Meggie of Green Gables
by ElouiseBates
Summary: Meggie Blythe, daughter of Shirley, is growing up! At age ten, life holds nothing but promise for her, but what will happen as the years pass by? COMPLETE
1. Family Tree

**Anne Shirley (1866) m. Gilbert Blythe (1864) – 1891**

Joyce Blythe (1892)

James (Jem) Matthew Blythe (June 1893)

Walter Cuthbert Blythe (1894-1916)

Anne (Nan) Leslie Blythe (May 1896)

Diana (Di) Gail Blythe (May 1896)

Shirley John Blythe (March 1898)

Bertha Marilla (Rilla) Blythe (July 1899)

* * *

**Diana Barry (1866) m. Fred Wright – 1885**

Fred Wright, Jr. (1886)

Anne Cordelia Wright (1888)

John (Jack) Wright (1890)

* * *

**John Knox Meredith m. Cecilia (d. 1902) m. Rosemary West – 1906**

Gerald (Jerry) Knox Meredith (1894)

Faith Cecilia Meredith (1895)

Una Grace Meredith (1896)

Thomas Carlyle (Carl) Meredith (1897)

Bruce West Meredith (1907)

* * *

**Owen Ford m. Leslie West Moore (1862) – 1894**

Kenneth West Ford

Persis Rose Ford

* * *

**Lord Godwin Mercer, Earl of Whitmore (1867) m. Lady Dorothy Bates (1879) (d. 1918)**

Lord Reginald Mercer (b. 1895 d. 1917)

Lady Dorothy Mercer (b. 1896 d. 1914)

Lady Leah Mercer (1896)

Honourable Frederick Mercer (February 1918)

* * *

**Jem Blythe m. Faith Meredith – July 2, 1921**

Cecilia (Lily) Joyce Blythe (February 14, 1923)

Walter (Walt) James Blythe (June 11, 1924)

* * *

**Rilla Blythe m. Kenneth Ford – April 1922**

Gilbert (Gil) Owen Ford (June 4, 1923)

Aidan Kenneth Ford (d. August 16, 1925)

Leslie Alice (Ally) Ford (March 31, 1927)

Anne (Anna) Marilla Ford (March 31, 1927)

Theodore (Teddy) Selwyn Ford (December 24, 1930)

* * *

**Jerry Meredith m. Nan Blythe – October 1922**

Blythe Gerald Meredith (August 18, 1923)

John (Johnny) Knox Meredith (January 24, 1925)

Diana (Dee) Anne Meredith (February 3, 1926)

* * *

**Shirley Blythe m. Cecily Irving (1903-1925) – October 12, 1923**

Joshua Matthew (Matt) Blythe (April 19, 1925)

Joanna Margaret (Meggie) Blythe (April 19, 1925)

* * *

**Di Blythe m. Patrick Samuels (1891) – January 5, 1929**

Peter Richard Campion Samuels (1917)

Bran Lewis Samuels (1920)

Mary (Polly) Edith Campion Samuels (1923)

* * *

**Mary Vance m. Miller Douglas – 1919**

Elliot Miller John Kitchener Douglas (November 1920)

Vance Lloyd George Douglas (March 1922)

Una Cornelia Mary Douglas (August 1924)

* * *

**John (Jack) Wright m. Lady Leah Mercer – 1928**

Godwin John Mercer Wright (1930)

* * *

**Andrew (Drew) Stuart (1892) m. Robin Kennedy (1902) – 1920**

Jane Victoria Stuart (April 1921)

* * *

**Persis Ford **

Paulette Ford (1919)

Pierre Ford (1919)

* * *

**Bruce Meredith **


	2. At Green Gables

Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson leaned out of her rocking chair on the big, wide porch of the "old Lynde house" and settled her tiny spectacles a bit more firmly on the bridge of her nose. Mrs. Malcolm was nearly ninety, but her home was still the cleanest in Avonlea, and she never missed anything that went past her front door. Since Mr. Malcolm MacPherson died five years ago, interest in her neighbors' "doings" was the only thing that kept his widow from utter loneliness.

Just now, the object of her interest was a lithe, girlish figure tripping gently down the road from Green Gables, a basket of flowers in her hand. Mrs. Malcolm recognized the chestnut curls and dainty figure even from the porch.

"Here, Meggie!" she called out imperiously. "Margaret Blythe!"

Joanna Margaret Blythe, "Meggie" to all and sundry, turned from her path and clambered up on the porch in obedience to the beckoning finger, a beguiling smile on her delicate face. "Good morning, Mrs. MacPherson," she said sweetly. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

Shirley Blythe had been a widower for ten years now, but every time he looked at his daughter's bewitching smile, it was as if his beloved Cecily had come back to life. Meggie was the very image of her mother, both in appearance and temperament—the only differences were her eyes, deep brown like her father's, and her constitution, which, as Shirley daily thanked God for, was far stronger than Cecily's ever had been.

This morning, however, Mrs. Malcolm wasn't thinking of any of that. The Blythes and Samuels had been down to Glen St Mary for a big family gathering, and she was interested in hearing all the gossip. "When did you folks get back?" she asked now.

"Last night," Meggie answered, sitting down on the porch steps and leaning her head back against the railing. "Polly stayed on at Ingleside for a little while longer—she's the same age as Lily, you know, and they're great friends—but the rest of us came on home."

"And how is everyone in the Blythe clan?"

Two dimples appeared in Meggie's round cheeks. Her father had warned her before she left that morning that Mrs. Malcolm would likely intercept and interrogate her on her way to the graveyard. Meggie didn't mind, though. In truth, even at ten she herself was not at all averse to a bit of harmless gossip.

"Shall I begin at the top? Grandmother and Granddad are both doing well. Granddad is almost entirely retired now, and Uncle Jem has taken over most of the practice. Uncle Jem and Aunt Faith are also doing well, though Aunt Faith is starting to worry about her father, the Rev. Meredith."

"Why, what's wrong with him?"

"Ever since Mrs. Meredith passed away last winter, he's not been doing well at all. Aunt Una has come back from India to look after him, but they're afraid he won't last much longer."

Mrs. Malcolm sighed. It _was_ hard to go on living when your other half had left you.

Meggie, sensitive as always to others' feelings, changed to sunnier subjects. "Lily is twelve, and very beautiful and very talented, and just as sweet as can be. Walt is eleven—just a year older than Matty and I—and handsome, too. He's a poet, you know, just like Uncle Walter, and loves everything beautiful."

What Meggie didn't mention was that Walt still had a hard time discerning between true beauty and fool's gold. She loved her cousin dearly, but she worried about his lack of judgment.

"Then there's Auntie Nan and Uncle Jerry. Uncle Jerry's party is in office now, and he's very busy and very successful. Their three—Blythe, Johnny, and Dee—are all—well, mostly—popular in school and very sophisticated. Dee is the image of Auntie Nan, and Blythe wants to get into politics, just like Uncle Jerry."

"And Johnny?" Mrs. Malcolm asked, watching the little girl's face shrewdly.

Meggie's eyes clouded slightly, but she answered loyally. "Johnny is a dear boy."

As a matter of fact, nobody in the family quite knew what to make of John Knox Meredith. He was quiet—one of the few quiet people in the entire boisterous clan—and never quite fit in with the rest of his cousins. Blythe was somewhat embarrassed by him, and felt that he was something of a misfit in an otherwise perfect family. Dee simply couldn't understand him, and most of the cousins deemed him "boring" and left him alone. Meggie herself was rather fond of him—being one of the quieter Blythes herself—but Johnny was reluctant to get close to anyone. It was all very troubling.

"Of course, you know all about Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick and their three," she continued hurriedly. "Peter did marvelously his first year at Redmond, and Bran is very relieved to be done at Queen's for the year. Then there's Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken—Uncle Ken's newspaper is booming, _and_ he's writing a book on the side which will make him famous."

Mrs. Malcolm sniffed. "Stuff and nonsense."

Meggie hid a little smile and went on. "Gil is twelve—Anna and Ally are eight—Teddy is five, and they're all heaps of fun. Gil is the head of every class at his school in Toronto. They're staying at their summer home on their island near the Glen now, and Gil is allowed to row by himself, and take the other three over to the mainland whenever he wants." Gilbert Ford was rather puffed up about this privilege, but the rest didn't mind. After all, even when Gil was boasting, he was just _so_ charming.

"Aunt Persis and her two came to stay at the House of Dreams for a few months," she continued. Aunt Persis, like Aunt Una and Uncle Carl, was technically no relation to Meggie at all, the former being Uncle Ken's sister, and the latter two being the siblings of Uncle Jerry and Aunt Faith … but they never let a little thing like blood ties get in the way of family. "They just got back from another trip to Egypt."

"Heavens!" Persis Ford was thirty-eight (how Mrs. Malcolm knew this nobody was quite sure, but she was always accurate in such matters), an expert archeologist, and her exploits with her two adopted children were still the talk of all the newspapers on the Island—and even in Toronto, if one cared to read such frivolous city papers. Digging up ruins in France! Excavating pyramids in Egypt! Discovering remains of Roman settlements in England! These were _not_ proper doings for a woman and mother. "Isn't she ready to settle down yet?"

Meggie grinned mischievously. "She says she doesn't ever want to marry; she's quite content with her life the way it is."

Mrs. Malcolm could only hold her hands up in horror.

"Paulette and Pierre," Persis' twins, "are thinking about university. They both want to do something in archeology, although Pierre's fascination lies more with ancient languages than ancient ruins. Paulette, however, is becoming almost as well-known as Aunt Persis for finding significant sites."

"Dear me," Mrs. Malcolm muttered helplessly. "What _is_ the world coming to?" She shook her head. "And where are you off to by yourself this morning?" she asked briefly, changing the subject.

Meggie displayed her basket proudly. "I'm putting some narcissi on Little Hester Gray's garden. Grandmother told me her story one night at Ingleside, and I thought she would like to see and smell her beloved flowers again."

"Land, child, what a notion! Hester Gray has been dead for years. What makes you think she can still see what happens at her grave?"

Meggie shrugged. She felt deeply, but it was very difficult for her to put those feelings into words. "She loved them while she lived—I just think she would be pleased to know someone still remembers and cares about her, and her flowers."

Mrs. Malcolm shook her head. "You are an odd one, child."

Meggie had heard that sentiment many times before, so she wasn't bothered by it. "Matty and Peter and Bran and I are coming down tomorrow to decorate 'our' graves—Aunt Marilla and Uncle Matthew's, Mrs. Rachel Lynde's, Great-Grandmother and Great-Grandfather Blythe's, and Grandfather Irving's grandparents'—but I wanted to do Little Hester Gray's myself."

The Blythe and Samuel children always made a point of keeping the family graves neat, tidy, and well-decorated throughout the spring and summer. Mrs. Malcolm thought they set a good example for the rest of the Avonlea children—harum-scarum, heedless things, most of them, without a care in the world for those who had gone before.

"Well, well, I suppose it does no harm to put a few posies on a forgotten grave," she said indulgently. "Here, take a few flowers from my garden and place them on Mr. Malcolm MacPherson's grave for me, will you? I can't get down there the way I'd like anymore."

Meggie favored the elderly lady with her brightest smile as she tripped down the stairs and neatly plucked a few lilies from the tidy beds lining the front of the house, making sure she left no leaves or stray petals around—for Mrs. Malcolm was as notoriously neat as she had been in her spinster days.

Just before leaving, Meggie took one stalk of narcissus from her basket and laid it in Mrs. Malcolm's lap. "For you," she said sweetly, before going lightly on her way down the road.

Mrs. Malcolm watched her figure recede with noticeably softened eyes. Really, nobody could help but love that child.

* * *

Meggie breathed deeply of the softly scented air as she walked back from the graveyard, having solemnly placed the narcissi on Little Hester Gray's grave and Mrs. Malcolm's offering on _Mr._ Malcolm's stone.

Ingleside and Glen St. Mary were swell places to visit…but Avonlea was _home_. Meggie knew and loved all the places her grandmother had held so dear. Violet Vale, the Haunted Wood, Lover's Lane, Little Hester Gray's garden, the Lake of Shining Waters, Dryad's Bubble, Willowmere … and above all, Green Gables.

Meggie loved her home with a deep passion, second only to her love for her family. She had the old gable room that had been Mary Keith's before her, "Aunt" Dora Keith's before _that_, and Grandmother's first of all, 'way back in the days of antiquity, or so it seemed to Meggie. That little room was so steeped in girlish dreams and hopes that it verily lived and breathed with them. Sometimes Meggie could almost _see_ its former occupants … neat, tidy Aunt Dora, faithfully brushing her hair one hundred strokes before the mirror every night … Mary plotting up mischief with her brothers … Grandmother as a young orphan, red head in hand, leaning against the windowsill and letting her fancy wander whithersoever it willed.

Meggie shivered. Sometimes her imagination got the best of her … but most of her fancies were darling. And she didn't _really_ mind the ghosts of memory sharing her darling little room. They were _friendly_ ghosts.

When they had first moved to Avonlea from the States, Grandmother and Granddad had come down to prepare the house for them. Granddad made sure to plant a cherry tree right outside Meggie's window. He said there had always been one there in Grandmother's time, and it was only fitting that there be another now. Ten years later, it was tall and sturdy and filled the room with the scent of dreams and romance every spring. Meggie called it Sakura—Papa had told her that was the Japanese word for cherry blossom, and nothing seemed more fitting or lovely—and at night, when she woke up to see moonlight filtering through its white blossoms, the beauty of it sometimes made her shiver.

Her bedroom was Meggie's favorite place in the house, but she loved all the rooms … the parlor … the porch … the spare rooms upstairs that once belonged to Mrs. Rachel Lynde and were now always kept in readiness for company … and especially the neat, always clean kitchen, where she was learning to cook and bake and clean.

Papa kept Green Gables neat as a pin, but he was insisting that both the children learn how to run a household themselves. They each had their little chores to do, and even though Meggie would much rather have been playing outside, with the trees and brook and sunshine, she would work her little fingers to the bone if Papa asked it of her.

To her surprise, however, she found that she was actually enjoying certain aspects of keeping house. From her father she had inherited a determination and strong sense of purpose … a determination that served her far better than certain other denizens of Green Gables … denizens who let mice get into the plum pudding sauce because their imagination ran away with them.

And Papa never kept them at it too long. Just as the twins were getting heartily tired of chores, Papa would come along and shoo them outside for fresh air and fun, somehow knowing instinctively whenever they needed a break.

Meggie loved Papa so much it hurt sometimes. She couldn't remember her mother at all, but never really felt a lack. Papa was just as sweet and understanding as could be, and if there was ever anything she really needed to talk about with a woman, Auntie Di was right across the Lake of Shining Waters at Tanglewood, and she was always ready to spend a little time with "Shirley's girl."

Papa and Matty, and Uncle Patrick, Peter, and Bran took care of both farms together, leaving them all time to pursue their other interests … Papa worked for a big architectural firm in Montreal, designing buildings and then sending the plans to them through the mail. Once a month he flew over there … sometimes he took the twins with him. It was always a breathless treat to fly with Papa. He always piloted the airplane himself—it didn't belong to him, but he had an "understanding" with the owner: Papa could fly the plane to Montreal once a month, and during harvest, he would help the other man bring in his crops.

Uncle Patrick was a musician. He taught music to all the Avonlea pupils … or tried to, remarking once that it seemed impossible that there could be so many unmusical children in one village; and he also composed music on the side.

Meggie adored Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick, and as for their three children … she didn't think there were two nicer boys than Peter and Bran anywhere, and Polly was a darling. Golden-haired Peter, tall and strong at age eighteen, was never too grown-up or busy to spare some time for his little cousin. He was Meggie's hero, and she was his special comrade, the one he took with him on long walks in the woods, the one he brought little treats for back from Redmond, and the one, surprisingly enough, to whom he confided all his hopes, dreams, and fears.

Bran, still small, dark, and monkey-faced at fifteen, was as mischievous and energetic as ever, and still just as lovable. Auntie Di insisted that he had put every single silver strand in her red hair, at which remonstrance he would just laugh and told her that she'd always hated her red locks, so why complain? He wasn't overly fond of school, yet had been the head of his class at Avonlea, and was near the head at Queen's.

As for Polly … she was as good as having a big sister, without any of the "bossiness" of a _real_ sister. Only two years separated the two of them, and Polly was always ready for a lark with Meggie. She was a born housekeeper, and had helped Meggie more than Auntie Di in many of her cooking dilemmas, truth be told, for Auntie Di, though perfectly wonderful as an aunt, was not much of a cook.

Out of all Meggie's friends and family, though, by far the dearest to her heart was her twin: Joshua Matthew Blythe. When they were less than a year old Papa decided that they looked more like Matty and Meggie than Joshua and Joanna, and so they had been ever since.

As much as Meggie was her mother's child, so much was Matty his father's. He was a "little brown boy" all over again, with dark brown hair, brown skin, and clear, honest brook-brown eyes. The twins didn't look much alike, but their eyes marked them as twins. He was a sturdy, reliable little chap, quiet and calm, with an unsuspected streak of romance running through his steadfast spirit, his inheritance from the long-dead, girlish mother. Only Shirley Blythe suspected it as yet—even Matty didn't—but occasionally the loving father worried what would happen when that streak of romance decided to rear its head.

Meggie and Matty were as close as brother and sister could be. It always surprised Meggie slightly to see the spats between her Meredith cousins … both Dee and Blythe were high-spirited; quarrels were an everyday occurrence between them, and both railed at Johnny more often than not. Nobody ever argued with Lily, but sometimes even Aunt Rilla's brood had set-tos. Meggie couldn't _fathom_ quarreling with Matty. If Peter was her hero and Polly her "big sister," Matty was her confidante and chum and playmate, and dearer to her than anyone else.

The two hated being separated, even for a day. Polly often invited Meggie to spend the night with her, but she would only go if the boys invited Matty, too. Once, indeed, Matty had gone to Ingleside to stay with Walt for a week. At the end of the first day, Grandfather, bringing him home, met Dad on the road, bearing Meggie in the truck. Neither twin had been able to bear being so far apart for such a period of time.

Meggie tripped lightly past Tanglewood, blowing an airy kiss to its unseen occupants as she went, and made her way down the hill toward Green Gables.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ Here it is! The adventures of Joanna Margaret Blythe are commencing now. Please let me know what you think of her!_


	3. A Walk in the Woods

Shirley Blythe, a few more grey hairs threading his brown locks, but still as quietly good-natured and steadfast as ever, looked up from the meat pie he was concocting for dinner and smiled at his daughter as she flew through the kitchen door.

"How was your trip, daughter o' mine?" he asked lightly.

As quiet as he was, Shirley loved Meggie with a passion that was matched only by his love for Matty. They were both daily, living reminders of his precious Cecily, and the love that they had shared. Ten years may have passed since Cecily's death, but Shirley's love for her was as true and unwavering as the day he first realized how much he cared.

Not to mention, of course, that the twins were completely lovable in and of themselves. In his own quiet way, Matty was as reliable as the sunrise, always there when he was needed, ready with a twinkling smile and practical advice … and somehow also knowing when to say nothing and just be a friend.

He was Shirley's right-hand man around the farm, and though he showed none of his father's bent toward architecture, he could already take apart and put back together nearly every piece of machinery on the place.

As for Meggie … she had a pure heart, crystal-clear of any artifice or falsehood. She loved the world and everyone in it, and that love flowed back to her quite naturally. Shirley worried about her sometimes, afraid of what would happen when she went into the larger world and found that not everyone was as sweet as she was, but he daily prayed that he would be able to protect her from any heartbreak that might come her way.

She was a dreamer, like her mother before her … she could spend all day in the woods, inventing plays for herself and living in her imaginings. She was not such a romantic as other red-headed citizens of Green Gables had been in the past … her fancies were born of the woods and brooks, the rocks and trees, anything outdoors. At night, when Shirley would tuck her in, she would tell him all about her friends: the dryad in the beech tree, the fauns who danced on moonlit nights, the naiad who dwelt in the Green Gables brook … the mice and chipmunks and other woodland creatures that spoke to her and told her tales of their lives.

He delighted in her imagination, and encouraged it all he could … though always reminding her to live in reality. "Keep your head in the clouds by all means," was one of his favorite sayings, "so long as your feet remain firmly planted on the ground."

Yes, his children were his joy and delight, and he would not trade them for all the world … even if such a thing were offered, which he doubted it ever would be.

Shirley wrenched himself out of his reverie as Meggie replied,

"It was lovely, Papa. Oh—and I _did_ get stopped by Mrs. MacPherson, and I filled her in on all the family news."

"Good," said Shirley, half to himself. "Now I can go to town this afternoon without having to slink past her house."

Meggie simply smiled. It was an Avonlea fact that Shirley Blythe was _nearly_ as shy as Matthew Cuthbert had been in his day—though not quite. Meggie knew that her father simply hated gossip and crowds. Matty was the same, so Meggie did most of the socializing for the family.

"And what are your plans for the rest of the day, daughter dear?" Shirley continued, sliding the pie into the oven and moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

"After dinner, Peter and I are going for a walk," Meggie answered. "We haven't had a chance to talk at all since he got home from Kingsport, so we're going to take this afternoon to get reacquainted."

"I would have thought those long, voluminous letters you wrote to each other would have been sufficient," interposed Matty dryly, walking in from the back yard. "I fixed that leaning fence post, Papa."

Shirley raised an eyebrow at his son. "I thought you were going to wait for me to help you with that?"

Matty shrugged. "I was just looking at it, and I realized it really wasn't a two-man job, so I just went ahead and did it."

Shirley shook his head helplessly. "What am I going to do with the two of you?" he asked.

The twins laughed at him, and went hand-in-hand upstairs to wash up before setting the table for the noon meal.

* * *

Meggie and Matty were just finishing the dishes—Meggie washing, Matty drying and putting away—when there was a knock at the door, and Peter poked his head into the kitchen. 

"Anyone home?" he inquired carelessly.

Meggie favored him with her brightest smile. "Hello, Peter. Do you mind waiting a few moments until Matty and I finish?"

Peter seated himself at the kitchen table, stretching his long legs out across the floor. "Not at all," with his quiet grin. "I rather enjoy sitting and watching someone _else_ work for a change."

"Ah yes," teased Matty, lightly kicking Peter's boot with his foot as he crossed the kitchen to take care of the milk pitcher. "The tragic, wearisome life of a university student."

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the glasses he wore for reading. Settling them firmly on his nose, he crossed his eyes and spoke in a stuffy voice. "Thus speaks the wisdom of ten. Wait until you are done with primary school, youngster, and then tell me how easy I have it."

Meggie giggled at their banter. "Enough, you two," she said, drying her hands on the blue-and-white checked towel. "Matty, will you let Papa know I've gone?"

Her twin nodded. "Have a good time," he called after them as the two headed out toward the back fields, the golden head already bent attentively to the chestnut one.

Meggie waved back at him, and then turned her full attention to Peter. He was waiting for her to speak. She smiled up at him.

"Well?"

He smiled back. "Well, what, little fawn?"

Meggie saucily placed her hands upon her hips. "Well, have I changed since Christmas?"

Peter surveyed her carefully, from the top of her dark crown, to the tips of her black Mary Janes; noting her yellow calico dress, its elbow sleeves showing off her slim brown arms, and the way her slender throat rose gracefully from the white collar.

"No," he finally said with satisfaction. "You're still my little Meggie."

"Good," was her emphatic reply.

"Why, fawn, don't you want to grow up?"

Meggie sighed, her dainty features wrinkled in thought. "I know I have to grow up sometime … and I suppose I won't mind when it actually happens … but right now I just always want to be Papa's little girl."

Peter patted her arm. "Trust me, Meggie, no matter how old you get, you will always be a little girl to your father. Look at Polly. Dad still thinks of her as his baby, even though she's twelve and nearly a young lady, as she informed me two nights ago."

Meggie's sweet smile broke over her face. "Good," she laughed again.

"But you have to grow up sometime," Peter continued. "How will you ever understand everything I've been through at Redmond unless you go yourself?"

Meggie looked at him sympathetically. "Was it so very hard?"

He shrugged moodily. "I love the work. If I could spend all my time in class, or studying in the library, I'd be perfectly happy at Redmond. It's just all the social events one must attend … dances, parties, sporting events … I'm already thought of as a stiff because I don't play any sports. I'd like to just ignore everything else, but if I do that, the rest of the students will make my life miserable for the next three years, and Mum will be so disappointed. She loved her time at Redmond—so did Grandmother and Granddad—especially the social part. I know they'll be let down if I don't 'make the most' of my time there. Granddad was already disappointed that I didn't even want to join Lambda Theta. He did, and Uncle Jem did, and as the oldest grandson, apparently I'm supposed to carry on the tradition."

He stopped, out of breath. Meggie had listened sympathetically to his entire tirade. Now she said, squeezing his hand, "I'm _so_ sorry, Peter. And you were looking so forward to Redmond, too!"

He smiled ruefully, somehow feeling a little better just by getting it all out there to a compassionate ear. "Well, I do like all my classes. I think I was born to be a scholar—just not a socialite." He made a face.

Meggie laughed softly. "You know that we'll all be proud of you; whether you join any societies or none, make a million friends or one, come in at the head of your class or the middle." She smiled up at him trustingly. "You're our Peter, and we all love you, no matter what you do."

Peter shook his head. "How did you get to be such a comforter, little chum? I don't know what people do who don't have a Meggie in their lives."

Her cheeks flushed slightly with pleasure. Nothing pleased her more than to know she meant something to those she loved.

"Well, I won't worry about Redmond anymore," Peter said, wriggling his shoulders slightly, as though shaking off his troubles. "For now, I'm just going to thoroughly enjoy the summer. Why fawn, look at that! Have you ever seen anything so lovely in your life?"

"That" was a shaft of sunlight lancing down through the leaves and striking on one lone birch tree, lighting up its silvery bark and causing the whole thing to glow as though it were anointed with the oil of gladness.

Meggie caught her breath at the loveliness of it. There was so much to adore in nature; she never understood people who went to museums for fine art. Why, just take a walk through the back woods on a June morning! There was more beauty there than in all the museums in the world.

"What was that poem Walt quoted while we were at Ingleside?" she breathed.

" 'And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it her warm ear lays,' " Peter recited softly. "I learned that at Queen's."

Meggie sighed. "It's so fitting."

"Only I would add, a day in June with my little cousin," Peter said teasingly. "Nothing is quite so fun without you, chum."

Peter had half a dozen nicknames for Meggie: fawn, chum, mate, little girl, and many more. She rather enjoyed the variety; one never knew what was coming next.

They meandered through the woods lazily, drinking in the beauty of day and each other's company. As usual when on these walks, they had no particular destination. Every time they went, they found something to delight and fulfill them. As Peter said, why plan when you could let nature lead you at her whimsy? The secrets she showed you then were twice as lovely as the ones you tried to force out of her.

Such bits of poetry coming from Peter would have surprised most people, had he ever shared them with anyone but Meggie. To the world, he appeared proud and withdrawn, too stiff and reserved to be any "fun" at all, preferring a thick, dull-looking tome to contact with his peers. Only Meggie, and his mother and sister, ever saw the softer side of Peter. Auntie Di used to sigh and wish for a good wife to bring him out of his shell … and then she would laugh, reminding herself how much she loathed others' attempts at matchmaking in her single days.

So she let Peter alone to do as he pleased, and though he never said anything, he loved her all the more for her forbearance.

The path they were on suddenly forked to the right and left. The right turning was a well-tended road, the grass well-trimmed and the trees keeping a respectable distance from the sides. The left was overgrown, with spruce trees crowding in around it and wildflowers popping out of the most distracting places.

Peter and Meggie exchanged a knowing glance.

"The right or the left, fawn?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The left, of course," Meggie answered promptly.

"We are of one accord," Peter proclaimed loftily. They turned happily down the neglected path and followed it gleefully, rejoicing in its very wildness.

Soon they came to another fork, this one enlivened by a narrow, winding lane going off into the woods, hung over with ancient fir trees, the floor carpeted with thick, soft moss.

Peter waved a hand invitingly at the lane. "Shall we?"

Meggie dropped a quick curtsey. "Why thank you, sir knight. With you by my side, I shall dare even to venture into this gloom."

He bowed from the waist. "Fear not, fair lady. For are you not the very spirit of the woods? Not even the evil gnomes would dare cause mischief when you walk by."

Giggling a little, Meggie preceded her cousin down the lane. It was rather scary, as dim and shadowy as it was. The trees grew so thickly overhead that very few beams of sunlight could break through, and when they did, they were weak, as though they had had to travel a very long way.

"Are we traveling through a storybook or fairy tale?" Meggie whispered. "Will there be an enchanted castle at the end of this?"

Peter smiled. "Anything's possible."

When the lane did finally end, though, what greeted their delighted eyes was no castle, but a darling little low-eaved sandstone house, covered over so thickly with ivy that one could hardly see the red stone underneath. A chimney guarded either end of the peaked roof, and two dormer windows winked out at them in a friendly fashion in between.

What used to be an old-fashioned garden, surrounded on three sides by a fallen-down stone wall, but was now dreadfully overgrown with weeds, spread right before their feet. The spruce trees grew right up to the house, and behind it, a little meadow rolled easily down to the shimmering blue river.

Peter released his breath. "Whew! I always _knew_ there was something a little uncanny about you, fawn. What magic spell did you weave to bring me to a place like this? _This_ cannot be an Island house."

Meggie barely heard him. She looked all around with delighted eyes. "Oh," she gasped. "It's almost lovelier than Green Gables. And," wonderingly, "I feel as though I should _know_ it somehow … or that it knows me, and has been waiting for me. How can that be?"

Peter caught her hand. "Come, let's explore it while it's still here!"

"Whatever do you mean?" Meggie asked, following obediently as he led her through the neglected garden.

"This is obviously a fairy dwelling," Peter explained, looking over his shoulder and twinkling his blue eyes at her. "And if we don't keep our eyes on it every second, it will vanish into the afternoon, never to be seen again."

Laughing merrily, but with a hint of awe and wonderment behind their laughter, they prowled over the entire place, discovering its hidden secrets and delightful surprises—and some not so delightful, as the patch of stinging nettles Peter blundered into in the middle of the garden.

"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing his ankles.

"Peter," Meggie whispered, grabbing his arm. "Listen!"

From across the river, elusive whispers came back to them.

"Ow … ow … ow …"

"An echo," Peter breathed, forgetting his stinging legs for a moment.

"Either that, or the fairies are sympathizing with your pain," Meggie giggled.

Peter threw his head back and laughed heartily, and echoing back came hosts of little pixy chuckles.

"This is the home of my dreams," Peter said, looking around in satisfaction. "I wonder who it belongs to?"

"Papa will know," Meggie said assuredly.

"We'll have to ask him, then," Peter said, taking her hand again. "Besides, it's getting late, and I don't want to keep you out after dark."

Meggie sighed. She hated to leave this little place, but they could always come back. As they went hand-in-hand back down the lane, she craned her head around her shoulder for one last look at it, sitting there alone in the twilight, simply begging to be lived in and loved.

Peter squeezed her hand. "Don't worry. We'll be back. That little place and I are destined for each other."

"I believe you," Meggie sighed, and, being rather tired from their long walk, she nestled a little closer to her tall cousin as they walked through the darkening gloom.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! Meggie is such a real character to me, and I'm so glad you like her too. Keep the comments coming, every one is an inspiration to me to write more, and better!_


	4. Echo Lodge

Peter and Meggie were a bit late, getting back to Green Gables, but Shirley, looking at their penitent faces, didn't have the heart to scold.

"It was all my fault, Uncle Shirley," Peter confessed readily. "We found a house, and I was so intent on exploring it that I gave no thought to time. I should have been more responsible."

"It wasn't Peter's fault, Papa," Meggie cried, before Shirley could say a word, unable to let her beloved cousin bear all the blame. "I was just as much at fault."

Shirley smiled. "Well, we'll let it pass this time. Peter, it'll be even later by the time you get home—why don't you have supper with us?"

"Thank you, I would like that," Peter answered.

A quick phone call to Tanglewood was enough to let Di know that her son was at Green Gables, and then the four went in to eat.

During the course of the meal, Shirley brought up the house Meggie and Peter had found.

"You said it was an old, abandoned house?"

"Yes, sir," Peter said. Six years in the Blythe family had mostly cured him of his formality around his adopted relations, but a "sir" or "ma'am" still slipped out on occasion. "Back in the woods, toward Middle Grafton."

"It's beautiful, Papa," Meggie put in eagerly. "All little and low, made of sandstone, with the darlingest little windows, and a sweet old garden out front …"

"And the echoes," Peter added. "Don't forget the echoes."

Shirley leaned back in his chair, his food momentarily forgotten. "Well, I'll be," he said in wonder. "I believe you two found Echo Lodge."

"Great-Grandmother Lavender's old home?" Matty asked, joining the conversation for the first time.

"The very same."

Meggie gasped, her eyes shining like stars at the unexpected discovery. Peter, however, still looked puzzled.

"What's Echo Lodge, and who's Great-Grandmother Lavender?" he asked.

As usual in the Blythe household, the two men were silent, letting Meggie answer.

"Great-Grandmother Lavender was Mama's grandmother," she explained. "She passed away when Matty and I were very little, so we don't remember her at all, but Grandfather Irving loves to tell stories about her. She lived, before marrying Great-Grandfather Irving, in Echo Lodge, and made it a truly magical place, according to Grandfather."

"The Irvings kept it as a vacation home after they were married," Shirley added. "That's where I first met Cecily." As always, when he said his wife's name, he infused it with an air of reverence and love. "We had many, many happy hours there," he finished, smiling reminiscently.

"So why was it abandoned?" Peter asked, intent on the story.

Meggie looked sad. "Grandfather and Grandmamma haven't visited the Island since Mama died. Grandfather says that the memories are still too painful."

"When Miss Lavender passed away," Shirley interjected again, "she left Echo Lodge to Paul—that is, the children's grandfather, Paul Irving. He sent me the key, asked me to lock it up, and I did so, and haven't thought of it since. That was nearly nine years ago."

"Then if you have the key, could we actually open it up and look around it?" Matty asked.

"Oh yes, and maybe fix it up a little, too?" Meggie pleaded, clasping her hands together and looking up into her father's face beseechingly. "Weed the garden, trim back the ivy, make it look loved again? It's _so_ sad right now."

"It's a house, Meggie," Matty objected. "How can it feel sad, or happy, or anything?"

"Oh, but it's not just a _house_," Meggie explained. "It _does_ feel, Matty, it really does. I can't explain it, but just by looking at it, you can tell that it used to be loved, and it's lonely now because nobody cares for it anymore."

Matty still looked skeptical, but Peter backed Meggie up. "She's right," he said firmly. "We could tell there was something special about it the moment we saw it. A home is more than stone and mortar, Matty. It's memories, and shelter, and caring. Right, Uncle Shirley?"

"Exactly so," Shirley agreed, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Just compare a home like Green Gables to, say, the Andrew Sloanes' place," Peter continued. "Now, that has been in the Sloanes' family for several generations, just like Green Gables. Yet even you, young skeptic, should be able to tell the difference between the two."

Matty considered for a moment. "I guess you're right," he concluded finally. "The Sloanes' house is just a house. Green Gables is a _home_."

"And that, my children, sums it up perfectly," said Shirley. "Regarding Echo Lodge, I don't think it would do any harm for you cousins to look around and clean it up a bit. Who knows, maybe one of these days your grandparents will come back to the Island, and it'll be a nice surprise for them." He smiled at their excited faces. "I'll dig up the key tonight."

"May we go tomorrow?" Meggie asked. "After our chores are done?"

"Yes, of course," her lenient father replied.

"I'll tell Polly and Bran," Peter said. "They'll want to be included in this, too."

"I guess we should bring a picnic," Matty added. "We'll probably be gone all afternoon."

Meggie wasn't listening. Her brown eyes luminescent, she was thinking of the sweet little sandstone house, and how happy it was going to be when they were all there, working in it, and loving it.

* * *

Accordingly, the following morning saw five happy young people setting off across the fields, toward the woods. Shirley and Patrick, working behind Green Gables, smiled contentedly at the sight of their children enjoying each other's company, and the beauties of nature. 

Peter, both as the eldest, and as one who knew their destination, led the way, his uncovered golden head shining in the warm sunlight. Polly and Meggie followed along right behind him, each carrying a picnic basket full of food. Matty was just behind them, listening to their girlish chatter with an indulgent look upon his quiet face.

Last of all came Bran, whistling as he walked, occasionally coming out with jokes and quips that sent his companions into convulsions of laughter.

Somehow, wherever he went, Bran managed to be the center of entertainment. He never set about to be so, but he was so full of energy and life that he simply couldn't be contained quietly. He was doing quite well at Queen's, somehow, but professors who had adored his elder brother for Peter's steadiness and focus, despaired over ever getting Bran to take anything seriously.

"Is Echo Lodge really as magical as you say, or are you just exaggerating, Meggie?" Polly asked as they sauntered along the dusty path.

"Oh no," Meggie answered seriously. "It's even _more_ magical. Wouldn't you agree, Peter?" appealing to her cousin as the ultimate authority.

"There's no point in asking him," Bran called out from the back of the line. "He'll agree with anything Meggie says, whether it's true or not. He simply _can't_ argue with _darling_ little Meggie," teasingly.

Peter turned his head to glare warningly at his younger brother. "That's quite enough out of you."

Bran merely grinned, and Meggie, who knew him well enough to know he never meant offense, laughed merrily.

"You argue enough with people for both you and Peter," she scolded him.

"True," Polly interjected. "I've never known anybody who could irritate more people within five minutes of meeting them."

"Ah, but that's only until they experience my charm," Bran said casually. "Then I could do absolutely anything, and they wouldn't care, but still think of me as perfectly delightful."

Matty, who, up until now, hadn't joined in the conversation, gave something that sounded remarkably like a snort.

They all laughed, and then Polly returned to her original point.

"No, but what's it _like_, Echo Lodge?" she persisted. "Even though you've both described it, I still can't get a feel for it."

"You'll have to wait and see it for yourself, Polly," Peter said. "Echo Lodge is the sort of place that defies description. We would never be able to do it justice by telling you about it—you have to experience it yourself."

Polly let out a sigh, half-amused and half-exasperated. "Well then, how much further do we have to go?"

"Until we get there," Matty answered her dryly.

Polly turned her head sharply, strands of auburn hair whipping her cheeks. She narrowed her dark green eyes at his blank expression.

"That was not very polite," she said, trying to sound severe.

Matty widened his brown eyes. "What?" he said, his voice innocent.

Polly held her miffed look for a moment longer, and then laughter rang out once more from among them all.

"It's no wonder we're the _Blythe_ clan," Bran had remarked once. "I've never known so many people given to laughter at any little thing."

His observation was quite true. Whether there were two of them or twenty gathered together, nobody had quite such good times as the Blythe family did when they were together.

Meggie sighed happily. While it wasn't quite the same as a solitary walk with Peter or Matty, such an outing was still very pleasant. And knowing that her great-grandmother's darling little house was awaiting her at the end of their walk made things just that much more enjoyable.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Meggie?" Polly asked now. At twelve, Polly was very interested in being an adult, with all the privileges and responsibilities that went along with it. While at Ingleside, she and Lily had shared several conversations about what they were going to do with their lives, and now she was interested in what her other relations thought on the matter.

Meggie shivered a little at the question. Unlike her other girl cousins, she had no wish to be grown-up. If she had her way, she would stay a little girl, living at Green Gables with Papa and Matty, forever. "I don't know," she said slowly.

"Don't you have any dreams or ambitions?" Polly persisted. She struck a dramatic pose. "I want to be an actress—not on screen, although that would be _so_ glamorous—but an actress in the theater, doing Shakespearean dramas, or other such plays."

"Do you really think you'll be able to be successful at that?" Matty inquired.

"Why, don't you think I have it in me?"

Matty shrugged. "You're talented, but lots of people have big dreams of fame and fortune, and most never happen at all."

"Well," Polly acknowledged, "Perhaps it won't come true. But it is fun to dream about it, at least. Go on, Meggie, if you could be anything at all, in all the world, what would it be?"

Meggie bit her lower lip as she considered. "Well," she finally answered. "It would be fun to be a world-famous figure skater—you know, like Sonja Henie—but really, I just want to stay at Green Gables with Matty and Papa, taking care of them."

"Oh, but that's so boring," Polly objected. "You'd be a marvelous skater—I know! You and Matty could do pair's skating—you'd be so good at that! You always are better than everyone else at the pond in the winter."

"No thanks," Matty interjected. "I'm going to be a farmer, like Papa."

Polly rolled her eyes. "You two are no fun at all."

"Don't you want to know what I want to do with my life, little sister?" queried Bran.

"No," Polly answered pertly. "I can already answer that for both you and Peter: _you_ want to make people laugh, and _he_ wants to spend his life locked away in a dusty old library, with books and no people."

Peter turned and winked. "You know me well, my Polly."

"As a matter of fact," Bran announced loftily. "I am going to be the Prime Minister of Canada, and then you'll all wish you'd treated me with a little more respect."

"Oh, Bran," sighed Polly, shaking her head and rolling her eyes again.

"Hush, all of you," Peter ordered. "We're coming to the lane leading in to Echo Lodge. From now on we must be very quiet, or you won't be able to appreciate it fully."

Accordingly, they all tip-toed silently down the winding, dark lane, holding their breath in anticipation of the magical house they'd heard so much about. Peter winked at Meggie.

"Here we are," he proclaimed solemnly.

Polly gave one short squeal, and even the boys drew their breaths in sharply.

"Oh, you were right," Polly whispered, squeezing Meggie's hand rapturously. "It _is_ magical."

It wasn't in Meggie's nature to say "I told you so," but even she felt a small thrill of satisfaction at her cousins' and brother's responses.

Bran whistled long and low. "This is some spot," he murmured, looking around at the wild garden, the rolling fields, and the glimmering blue river stretching out far below them. "I could almost see Prince Pwyll or Cei riding through on their way to a quest."

Di had sparked a love for mythology in Bran many years ago, and it was still strong in him—his family was quite used to hearing him make references to King Arthur, Math ap Mathonwy, Heracles, Sigmund, and other heroes from various legends around the world.

Matty said nothing, but moved a little closer to his sister and shared a slow smile with her—which was his way of saying he was impressed.

Desiring to prolong the glorious moment of seeing the inside, the young fry thoroughly explored the garden and surrounding area before Matty, who had been given charge of the key, unlocked the door.

They each found some place that instantly became "theirs:" an old stone bench in the garden for Meggie—a place where she could dream; the meadow below the house for Polly, where she could practice her best Shakespeare performances without fear of being overheard; the little nook amidst the spruce trees for Matty, quiet and secluded; and a spot on the garden's stone wall for Bran, so he could see everything coming or going.

As for Peter, everything about Echo Lodge was "his." Somehow, from the moment he first saw it, he knew that it belonged to him, and he to it. He couldn't explain just what it was about it that drew him so deeply—whether it was the house, so protected and sheltered by the trees and gardens, with its dormer windows winking out in such a friendly fashion, the old-fashioned garden, the romantic lane, the little spruce wood, or if it was everything put together—and the echoes. Sometimes he thought it was really the echoes that lured him—those elusive voices, so full of promise and enchantment, always beckoning, but never coming near enough to be caught.

Meggie watched him closely as he prowled around. She could tell better than the rest what he was thinking, and she sensed that he felt for Echo Lodge what she felt for Green Gables. She was so pleased—finally, this little home had someone to love it again, even if he couldn't live there.

After a splendid hour of discovery, they grouped around Matty as he inserted the old-fashioned key into the front door lock. Meggie's hands were as cold as ice with anticipation. Polly was nearly as excited as she, and the boys, though they pretended to be quite calm, couldn't help but breathe a little more quickly as Matty, using both hands (the lock was very stiff), turned the key … pushed the door … and led the way inside.

"O—o—h—hh," breathed Polly. Meggie was too delighted to say anything at all, but she looked around hungrily.

Everything was just as it should be—low ceilings, little, quaint windows, there was even some old-fashioned furniture left there by Miss Lavender all those years ago. Meggie, who had no memories of her great-grandmother, suddenly felt as though she knew her a little better, just by being in her house.

They stood there, grouped together in the doorway, for a few breathless moments, and then they scattered throughout the house, exploring and exclaiming.

It was very small—a living room, kitchen, and dining room downstairs, and three bedrooms upstairs, and a cellar. That was all, but each room had so much personality and charm, that it wouldn't have mattered if there were half as many.

"Everything's so dusty and neglected," Polly sighed, meeting Meggie in a little white bedroom, graced by one of the ivy-hung dormer windows, filling the room with a dim green light.

"Yes," Meggie murmured dreamily, "But you can still see it as it once was. Oh, I wonder which room Mama stayed in when they used to come here."

Polly put her arm around her younger cousin and gave her a quick hug. "I think it was this one," she said. "This seems like the perfect room for you, and Mum always says that you are just like your Mama."

Meggie was pleased to think she was like her Mama—that vague, sweet figure of her dreams and Papa's stories. She decided to believe that Polly was right; somehow, she liked thinking of her mama in this bedroom, dreaming her girlish dreams and fancies.

Polly took her hand. "Come down and see the kitchen," she said. "It's so darling—it truly makes me want to bake all sorts of decadent goodies just by looking at it!"

Shaking off her momentary abstraction, Meggie followed her cousin down the stairs, laughing as they went.

The sight of the kitchen seemed to work as a reminder to everyone that they were hungry, so they took the picnic baskets back out into the garden and ate their luncheon. Nobody spoke much, for a change—they were all too busy with their own private dreams.

Finally, after the last crumb was finished, they went through the house one last time, locked the door behind them, and went back down the lane.

"We'll have to come back," Polly said. "By the end of this summer, I hope we have Echo Lodge looking like someone lives there again. Don't you?"

"Naturally," Peter agreed, putting his arm around his sister in a rare show of affection.

"Oh yes," whispered Meggie, her eyes shining like stars.

Matty leaned in close to her. "You were right," he said in a low tone. "Echo Lodge _is_ alive—or at least it was once. I'm not so sure anymore."

Meggie thrilled down to her toes. It always was exciting when Matty understood her fancies. "Oh, it's still alive," she said seriously. "It's just been asleep for many years, waiting for the right ones to come and break the spell. Now that we've come, it will be able to wake up and come alive again."

Matty nodded silently, took the empty basket from his sister's arm, and held her hand in his brown paw as they walked side-by-side down the road. Meggie laid her head on his shoulder fondly. It was nice that Matty saw the beauty of Echo Lodge, just as she and Peter did. It wouldn't have been the same at all if he hadn't loved it, too. As it was, everything was just perfect.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _well, here we not only get re-introduced to_ _Echo Lodge, but we get a closer glimpse at the cousins. These five are going to be the main family members we get to know in this story, although we certainly will meet the rest of the clan. Anyhow, let me know what you think; reviews make my day!_


	5. Unexpected News

The Blythe young fry (somehow, even though three of them bore the last name of Samuels, the Avonlea townsfolk always thought of them collectively as "the Blythe clan") spent at least two afternoons a week at Echo Lodge. Sometimes it was all five of them, sometimes just Polly and Meggie, sometimes just the boys, and sometimes just Meggie and Peter. Some of the sweetest times were when they weren't expecting to see each other—Meggie and Polly planned a trip out one bright July day when they knew the boys were needed in the fields, only to discover, once they arrived at the little stone house, that the three young men were already their, working away diligently.

"Oh, Dad told us to take the afternoon off," Bran said casually, when Polly indignantly asked why they were there. "He said it was too hot for field work."

That sort of attitude was one that made Avonlea farmers shake their heads and insist that Patrick Samuels would never be a successful farmer, but it was one that endeared him to all that knew him—the attitude that said, life is short, live it with enjoyment, rather than wearing yourself out with society's conventions.

Once Polly got over her momentary pique that the boys were interrupting their "girl day"—which did not take long (Polly could never carry a grudge for longer than five minutes)—the five of them had a thoroughly delightful time.

Meggie and Matty had taken the garden on as their special project. Knowing, from their father's stories, how much Great-Grandmother Lavender had loved it, and having inherited a love themselves for growing things from both sides of the family, they worked at it with pleasure, and already it was very different from the tangled mess Peter and Meggie had seen their first visit.

Polly was working on cleaning up the house—she recruited Bran to help her, and together they tore down the dingy, faded wallpaper and painted the walls, dusted and polished old furniture, hung the dainty white curtains Polly sewed in the all the windows, and in all ways transformed it back from a neglected house into a beloved and welcoming home.

As for Peter, he took on all the odd projects nobody else would have thought of—rebuilding parts of the stone wall that had fallen down, trimming up the ragged Lombardies that stood at the entrance to the walkway, fixing the weak spots on the roof—a hundred and one little things that made all the difference in the world.

Coming home from their day in the woods, Matty and Meggie found a note on the kitchen table in an empty Green Gables:

"Aunt Di has invited us all over for supper tonight—Meggie, if you could bring that pie you baked yesterday, you'd make your very hungry father and uncle extremely happy."

The short note, so characteristic of Shirley, sent the twins scurrying upstairs to wash and get ready, while their cousins, who had lingered to hear the note, waited for them in the trim front lawn.

Meggie ran a comb hurriedly through her curls and changed from her dirt-stained play clothes into a dark green dress with a crisp white collar, sprinkled all over with little white flowers. It had been a gift last birthday from Grandmamma Irving, who always sent the sweetest outfits.

She smiled chummily at her reflection in the mirror, blew an airy kiss out the window to Sakura, and ran lightly down the stairs, where Matty (who, being a boy, had gotten ready much sooner) was waiting with her cherry pie.

"You look nice," he observed in his quiet way, before preceding her out the door, where they joined the other three, and all traveled hungrily to Tanglewood.

* * *

Tanglewood was a beautiful home, as different from the typical clapboard farmhouses in Avonlea as Echo Lodge was, though in its own unique manner. Shirley had designed it for Patrick and Di before they were married, working off his and Patrick's memories of the _chateaux_ in France they had seen during the War.

It was of stone, large and rambling, with windows everywhere, including two dormer windows in Polly's room. Meggie's favorite part of the house was the little rotunda that served as Uncle Patrick's music room-_cum_-study. Something about the completely round room with windows on every side, capped by a conical roof, sent a thrill right down to the tips of her smart black Mary Janes. She wasn't overly fond of playing the piano—she much preferred to sing—but sitting at Uncle Patrick's baby grand piano, with sunshine pouring in on every side, the music just flowed out of her slim brown fingers.

Down on the east side of the house was a small man-made pond, and the old Blythe orchard out back, though long grown over, still stood, giving the house its name of "Tanglewood."

Polly and Bran adored their elegant home, but Meggie knew that Peter always felt lost inside—he said it was too large and stylish to be comfortable. She suspected this was one of the reasons he loved Echo Lodge.

Avonlea folk criticized the house for its old-world feel and glamour, but whatever one felt about it, one never saw it without a slight sense of awe. Meggie's loyalty would always be to Green Gables, but she did feel a great deal of pride in Tanglewood, knowing that it was her father's hand that designed it. There was something very _satisfying_ in having a father who was _so_ talented, and could create such beautiful things.

Their three adults were sitting on the front lawn, sipping lemonade, when the children trooped up the lane.

"You're late," called Auntie Di, who looked cool and comfortable in a summer frock of lilac blue, waving at them. "Much longer and we would have started eating without you."

Polly went straight to Uncle Patrick and dropped a kiss on his thick brown hair. She was her father's especial pet, though she did sometimes get irritated at the way he still _insisted_ on treating her like a child, though she was so nearly thirteen.

"You wouldn't really have started without us, would you, Dad?" she asked sweetly.

"Never," he replied, putting his arm around her waist and hugging her.

Auntie Di shook her head smilingly. "What am I going to do with you two?" she asked in mock exasperation. She reached up and squeezed Peter's hand. "How are things looking at Echo Lodge?"

He smiled down from his great height lovingly. "Better and better every day, Mum. We'll have it ready for you two and Uncle Shirley to come see it by the end of the summer."

"Good." Auntie Di stretched her other hand toward Bran. "And what trouble did you cause today, my Bran?"

He immediately put on a sorrowful face. "None. Peter and Meggie won't let me cause any mischief around Echo Lodge." He kissed her cheek, presented her with a bouquet of flowers he'd picked on the walk home, and the three ran into the house to clean up for dinner.

Meggie and Matty had gone quietly over to their father's chair during these exchanges, and were sitting, one on either side, with Meggie leaning her head against Shirley's knees. Matty drew his own knees up and clasped his arms loosely around them.

"You didn't do too much today without me, did you, Papa?" he asked quietly.

Shirley passed a hand gently over his son's smooth brown hair. "No, my over-protective lad, I did not do too much." He sighed mournfully. "Things have come to a sad pass when your ten-year-old son thinks you are too old to run a farm without his help."

Matty smiled. "You'll never get old, Papa. I just like to help you with everything I can."

"I know," answered Shirley. "And as for you, Meggie-love, how was your day?"

"Lovely," Meggie sighed happily, without picking up her head. She was rather tired from her long day, and was happy to simply rest against Papa.

Auntie Di, watching her dreamy face, thought with a pang how much she looked like dear Cecily, and then thanked God Meggie was healthy. She didn't think the family could bear losing this child the way they'd lost her mother.

Her own three came bursting out the front door—at least, Polly and Bran burst, while Peter followed with an indulgent smile. Polly had changed from her blue gingham play dress to a more grown-up frock of apple green, with ruffled short sleeves and a creamy bow at her neck. This dress, a gift from Aunt Persis, came down mid-calf, a sign of adulthood that thrilled young Polly.

Uncle Patrick sighed as he looked at his suddenly elegant daughter. "When did she grow up, Di?" he asked mournfully. "Wasn't it just yesterday she was a child, wanting me to hold her hand when I walked her to school, and still needing to be tucked in at night?"

Auntie Di's eyes were on her two sons, one so tall and composed, and the other compact and gleefully rumpled, even though he'd just cleaned up. "We must be getting old, Patrick," she said ruefully.

Meggie echoed their sighs with one of her own. She hated all signs of growing up—it was bad enough that Peter was at college now, and Bran attending Queen's. But now even Polly was starting to act like an adult—talking about her future, wearing long dresses and styling her pretty hair; somehow it all left her feeling somewhat forlorn.

"When can we eat, Mum?" asked Bran, banishing all gloomy thoughts with one of his bright smiles. "I'm ravenous."

"Soon," Auntie Di answered. "First, though, we have some news that might interest you young things. Your Aunt Faith called me this afternoon."

Five curious faces turned toward her. News from Aunt Faith meant news from Ingleside, which was always exciting.

"Do you remember Aunt Faith's youngest brother, your Uncle Bruce?" Auntie Di continued.

The three younger ones furrowed their brows; Peter answered for them all. "I do, from Reverend and Mrs. Meredith's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, three years ago. Bran, you remember him, don't you—the tall, dark one who gave the toast?"

Bran nodded. "Of course—Polly, you don't remember him because you were staying with Aunt Persis at the time. And as for Meggie," he winked at her saucily, "she was so scared of him that she cried every time he came near."

Meggie blushed. She remembered him now. She was only seven, and small for her age, and when this tall, stern-looking man with frightening eyebrows and a deep voice had loomed over her, she was so terrified she screamed and ran to Papa for protection.

Uncle Patrick frowned at Bran. "Don't tease your cousin," he admonished. "I think Bruce would appear threatening to anyone who didn't know him."

"Anyway," said Auntie Di, her voice showing her slight displeasure with having her news thus sidetracked, "He is going to be taking over from his father at the Glen St. Mary Presbyterian church this fall, _and_ he is going to be getting married, as well!"

"Oh," sighed Polly romantically. "When is the wedding?"

"Mid August," Shirley answered her. "He is bringing his fiancée home with him, and they're going to be married in the Glen—and all the clan is invited." He smiled at the suddenly excited faces around him. "Anyone up for another trip to Ingleside this summer?"

Meggie gave one squeal of glee. Visits to Ingleside were always _so_ wonderful, and they usually only happened once a summer, during the yearly family reunion. To get to go twice was unprecedented. In the delight of the moment, she even forgot her fear of Uncle Bruce, and thought only of the pleasure.

The conversation at the dinner table flowed around Bruce Meredith and his fiancée. The young people, all eyes and ears, learned that ever since graduating from Westminster Theological Seminary two years ago, he had been ministering at a small church in New England, but after his mother's death this winter, he decided he wanted to be closer to his father.

Presbytery agreed that Rev. Meredith had served long enough; accordingly, he would retire at the end of the summer, and his son would take over for him.

Polly, naturally, was most interested in his love affair. Aunt Faith had apparently told Auntie Di all about the girl—she was from Bruce's church in New England, a farm girl, who was very excited to move to Prince Edward Island and meet her soon-to-be husband's family.

"What's her name?" Polly interrupted, already wanting to form a picture of this girl in her mind.

"Elizabeth Ann Fisher," Auntie Di replied. "Ann without an 'e,' sadly, but apparently she never uses her full name—Faith referred to her simply as Betsy."

Betsy! It was not a very romantic name—but Polly still held out hope. "What does she look like?"

Auntie Di laughed. "We still haven't seen her, Polly! Bruce didn't go into detail—all he said was that she was the perfect woman for him."

"I bet she's beautiful," Polly said dreamily. "Tall and slim, with long golden hair, apple-blossom skin, red lips, and sea-blue eyes."

Bran gagged into his napkin. "You forgot the alabaster brow," he needled her.

Polly narrowed her eyes at him. "She could be!" she said indignantly. "Lily always said Uncle Bruce was handsome, in a grim sort of way, so maybe his wife will be beautiful, too."

Bran opened his mouth to retort back, but Uncle Patrick beat him to it. "Since we have no way of knowing what she looks like, there's little point in debating it," he said firmly.

Meggie barely heard these exchanges. She was lost in a happy reverie, dreaming about Glen St. Mary and her cousins there. She really didn't care anything about Uncle Bruce or his new wife—he was simply the reason that was going to bring them to the Glen.

She could dream in Rainbow Valley—go for rambles along the shore with Matty—listen to Walt's poetry—and hopefully, if Auntie Nan's brood was there, she could have some time alone with Johnny.

She dreamed away happily, only coming out when she heard Auntie Di tell Shirley, in a deeply significant voice,

"Una will be there, you know."

"Yes, so I would assume," Shirley answered calmly. "She was there during the family reunion as well, remember?"

"Yes well—just remember what we talked about."

"I'm not likely to forget it," Shirley reassured her. "Don't fret."

Meggie and Matty exchanged worried glances. Avonlea and Glen gossip had linked their father's name to Una Meredith's for several years now. While she was away in India, it really hadn't mattered much, but now that she was home, what would happen?

Meggie wanted to cry at the thought of Papa marrying again. It wasn't that she disliked Aunt Una—that was impossible—but they were all so happy at home. Why would Papa want to spoil it by bringing in another person? Weren't she and Matty enough?

Nothing more was said about Una throughout the meal, but the dinner was rather spoiled for Meggie, as was her anticipation of the trip to the Glen. She couldn't even properly enjoy the compliments on her cherry pie!

* * *

Later that night, back at Green Gables and supposed to be asleep, she got out of bed and snuck down the hall to Matty's room.

"Are you asleep?" she whispered, poking her head in the door.

He grunted sleepily. "Yes—no—almost. What is it?"

She came inside and crawled into bed next to him, pulling the covers over her icy feet. "I can't stop thinking about what Auntie Di said about Aunt Una. Matty, do you really think Papa would marry her?"

Fully awake now, her twin placed his head against hers. "I don't think we have to worry, Meggie. Papa wouldn't do anything without talking to us first, and if we told him we didn't want him to marry her, he wouldn't."

"But what if he really wants to?" Meggie worried. "I don't want him to be unhappy. Do you think he's unhappy, Matty?"

"No," Matty answered. "I think we'd know if he was. Don't fret about it, Meggie. We won't even see Aunt Una until August. That's a whole month away. Don't spoil the rest of the time between by worrying about something that probably won't even happen."

Meggie sighed. "You're right, it's silly to worry so—I just can't help it."

"Papa's never made any wrong decisions so far in our lives," Matty pointed out. "I think we can trust him now."

Meggie snuggled down next to him. "What would I do without you?" she murmured sleepily.

Matty's only response was a yawn.

Within minutes, the two were sound asleep. Shirley, coming upstairs to check on them before going to bed, saw their two heads next to each other on the same pillow, chestnut curls mingling with smooth brown locks, contented smiles on both their faces, and bent to kiss them softly.

"Oh, Cecily," he whispered. "How you would have loved them."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ It took a while, but here is the next chapter! Hope you like it--to discuss this and other stories, as well as anything LMM-related, visit our forum at _http :// tangledweb . 3 . forumer . com. _We love new members!_


	6. Childhood Tragedy

Meggie bit her lip with excitement as the old truck rattled up the lane and Ingleside came full into view. The house was as stately and welcoming as ever, warmed on the outside by the August sun, and on the inside by the love of its inhabitants.

"Well, the truck didn't break down more than twice this time," Shirley announced, turning the engine off. "I think that's a new record."

The Samuels' car had stopped ahead of theirs, and Auntie Di came back in time to hear the comment. "I really don't know why you don't get a new auto, Shirley," she said lightly. "One that's _reliable_."

"This one's reliable!" Matty stated indignantly.

"Yes," added Bran, coming up behind his mother. "You can always rely on it to break down."

Amidst the laughter caused by Bran's aside, the rest of the Avonlea crowd piled out of their vehicles, just as Ingleside's front door flew open and the Glen St. Mary Blythes tore out to meet them.

"Polly!" cried Lily, flinging her arms around the other girl as though they'd been parted for years.

Walt rushed up to Meggie. "Want to hear my latest poem?" he demanded.

"Walter," chided Aunt Faith, glowing like a late rose as she bent down to kiss her niece, "Give Meggie a chance to recover from the trip before you insist on reciting to her." She smiled. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm very well, thank you, Aunt Faith," Meggie answered sweetly. She adored this aunt, who was kind and fun-loving, and had managed the trick of never forgetting what it was like to be a child.

Uncle Jem was shaking Papa's hand. "We were beginning to think you'd never make it," he said. "My patients are dying by the bucketful all over the Glen, but I wouldn't leave until you all were here." He ruffled Matty's hair affectionately. "How about coming with me on my rounds sometime this trip, sport?"

"No, thank you, Uncle Jem," Matty answered politely, keeping from his face the disgust Meggie knew he felt at the suggestion. Matty was not unduly sensitive, but he had a very difficult time seeing people in pain when there was little or nothing he could do about it.

Uncle Jem thought this indicated a leaning toward the doctoring profession, but Granddad, who had been the Glen doctor for years, disagreed. He rather thought the distress Matty would feel over the suffering he could not alleviate would counteract the good he could do for others, and the struggle would be too much for him.

Matty himself had no such ambitions. He guessed he would be a farmer, like Papa, and maybe he'd be able to tinker with his much-loved machinery on the side.

Uncle Jem looked disappointed at Matty's refusal, but Grandmother intervened. She had followed the rest out a bit slowly, but smiled lovingly on them, and they all instinctively drew nearer to her warmth.

"I'm so glad you are here," she told her grandchildren now, hugging them all. "Somehow this old house just doesn't seem the same without crowds of children in it. Walt and Lily do their best, but it's hard for two to do the job of a dozen. Besides," smiling at Bran, "one of you, at least, has enough energy for all the rest."

Bran poked Peter in the side. "That's you," he whispered, straight-faced.

Peter rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Aunt Faith clapped her hands together.

"Why are we all standing around on the lawn?" she cried. "Come inside, all of you."

They obediently filed inside, and Polly and Meggie followed Lily up to her bedroom, where the three of them would be sleeping, and the boys disappeared into Walt's room.

Lily flopped down on her bed—at least, in any other girl, it would have been considered flopping, but coming from Lily, it simply looked graceful and relaxed.

"I'm so excited about the wedding," she said. "Mother thought I was a bit young to be a bridesmaid, but Aunt Una talked her into it. She said that since Dee and I are Uncle Bruce's only nieces, and Dee is _far_ too young, it was my family obligation to stand up with Aunt Betsy." She giggled. "Thank goodness for Aunt Una!"

"Have you seen her yet?" Polly asked. She was still holding out hope for a beautiful, romantic bride for their dashing Uncle Bruce.

Lily nodded, playing with the green tassels of her white chenille bedspread. "She's perfectly lovely," she said with warmth. "I was a little disappointed at first," honestly, "but after a while, I didn't even think about what I had been hoping she would be like—she's just wonderful as she is." She came off the bed. "Do you want to see my dress?"

Polly nodded enthusiastically, and even Meggie, who couldn't quite work up the excitement over clothes that the older two did, was curious.

Lily pulled open the wardrobe door and showed them her dress—a pretty soft lavender silk, with frothy lace at the hem and cap sleeves.

"Isn't it a dream?" she asked softly. "It's the first really-truly grown-up dress I've ever had." She clutched it to herself and waltzed around the room. "Oh, you darling, darling little dress!"

"Ahem!"

The three girls turned to see Aunt Faith watching them from the open doorway. She tried to look severe, but her golden-brown eyes were laughing. "Cecilia, darling," she said. "I know you're excited about your dress, but please, try not to crush it before the wedding?"

Lily blushed. "Yes, Mother." She hung the dress back up and smoothed it out carefully.

"Thank you, daughter dear. Now, if you girls are settled, would you like to come downstairs? Aunt Rilla and her brood have arrived, and I know Aunt Una is going be over soon."

"Oh Mother, when is Aunt Betsy going to come? She said she'd be here to meet the family," Lily asked as they went down the stairs.

"She and Uncle Bruce will be over tonight," answered Aunt Faith.

Meggie, trailing behind the other three, felt a small quiver in her stomach. If the truth were told, she was still a little bit afraid of Uncle Bruce. She wasn't really sure if she wanted to see him or not.

Another little worry tickled the back of her mind. Despite Matty's advice, she was still nervous about Aunt Una and Papa. She almost wished Aunt Una would just stay away altogether, but then she scolded herself for wishing that.

Aunt Una was a dear, wonderful lady, and, as Matty had said, whatever Papa decided would be the right thing. She shouldn't worry.

So Meggie told herself, but a bit of anxiety remained, nevertheless.

As it turned out, Aunt Una had come in while Aunt Faith was upstairs, and as the three girls entered the living room, Meggie saw her sitting next to beautiful Aunt Rilla, smiling and laughing as she cuddled three-year-old Teddy Ford, the baby of the connection.

Just at the sight of her, Meggie's stomach settled back down where it should be. Aunt Una was _so_ sweet, with her soft black hair and loving blue eyes. Meggie sometimes caught a hint of wistfulness in their depths, especially when she looked at her nieces and nephews, but for the most part, they were just kind and warm.

She had been gone for the last two years, working with impoverished families in India, but she had returned for her stepmother's funeral, and stayed on to take care of her father.

She was so caring toward all her family, and had an especial soft spot for all her nieces. Seeing the three of them enter the room, she looked over and her lovely smile blossomed over her face.

"There you are!" she cried softly, setting Teddy down and coming over to hug them. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you today, or of Lily was going to hide you in her room all day."

"Oh, Aunt Una," Lily protested. "I'm not that selfish."

"I know you aren't, darling," Aunt Una smiled. "Well, Polly, Meggie, how are you two girls? How have your summers been?"

They sat down, one on either side of her, with Lily seated on the floor with her arms clasped around her knees, and told her all about their summer adventures, while she listened with the sweet gravity she gave to all childish affairs, and which they all loved in her.

As Polly was enthusiastically describing Echo Lodge, Meggie saw Aunt Una's eyes wander briefly to Shirley, with a hint of—_something_—in their depths. Concern? Sympathy? Or something else?

Meggie didn't know what it was, but when her papa smiled and nodded in Una's direction, the cold lump settled in her stomach once again.

* * *

Soon, the ladies all meandered out to the kitchen to prepare supper. Susan Baker, faithful maidservant and much-loved member of the family, had long since gone to her well-deserved rest, but Grandmother Blythe and Aunt Faith kept the kitchen as spotless as she had—even if the treats that issued from there weren't _quite_ as delectable.

Polly and Lily retired to a corner of the living room to discuss the upcoming wedding, and Walt finally dragged Meggie out to the verandah to hear his latest poem.

Walter Blythe, like his uncle before him, was determined to be a poet, having a passionate love for beauty, and an equally passionate for hatred. However, he as yet lacked the discernment to look beyond the surface of people or things, and see their true worth, for good or ill.

He recited his poem—an ode to the fair "lady of the sea," rather weak in sentiment and wobbly as to rhyme, but considered a masterpiece by the author. After finishing, he stood proudly, waiting for Meggie's praise.

She was normally willing to give it (whether earned or not), but just now her brow was troubled. Some of Walt's phrases—"O fair maiden of deep blue eyes and palest skin"—"Your soft sad voice calls us from afar"—made her think of Aunt Una.

"Walt," she said slowly, not really thinking about the poem at all, "Do you think Aunt Una will ever get married?"

Walt looked blank. His "muse" for "Lady of the Sea" was a little harbor girl with black braids and saucy blue eyes—as different from Aunt Una as silvery moonlight and harsh streetlights. "Aunt Una?" he repeated. "How should I know?"

Meggie couldn't talk to him about her fears—they ran too deep to be confided to anyone but Matty. Even Peter, though he was able to tell something was troubling his little chum, hadn't guessed what it was or how deep the fear ran. So she shrugged. "I don't know … I was just wondering."

Walt sighed. "Didn't you hear anything of my poem, Meggie?" he demanded plaintively.

"Oh—oh yes, it was perfectly lovely, Walt," she answered absently.

Walt, for all his lack of discernment, could still tell when someone wasn't paying attention. He sighed again. "You aren't any fun tonight, Meggie," he said disgustedly. "I don't think you heard one word I said."

Meggie smiled distractedly. "I'm afraid you're right," she agreed ruefully. "I'm sorry, Walt. I think I'm going to go see if I can help the aunts and Grandmother with supper."

Walt waved her off with a disgruntled hand. Really, if even _Meggie_ couldn't listen to his masterpiece …! _What_ was the world coming to? He sat down to reflect sadly on the hard-heartedness of people in general toward poets.

Meanwhile, Meggie entered the kitchen unnoticed, just in time to hear Aunt Rilla say:

"Well, I don't care what anyone says—I think it would be a perfect match. They're both lonely. And Una needs someone to look after, and with Bruce coming back, Reverend Meredith won't need her as much."

Meggie stood frozen, not even realizing that she was, to all intents and purposes, eavesdropping.

"And Shirley?" asked Auntie Di, raising her slender eyebrows. Had Meggie been able to hear properly, she would have recognized the skepticism in her aunt's voice, but as it was, the words just struck her like a blow to an already wounded heart.

"Oh, Shirley desperately needs looking after," Aunt Rilla declared. "He's becoming a positive recluse, living there at Green Gables with the twins. Now Di, I know that you and Patrick see a lot of them, but even you must admit that he needs a wife. People are always saying how unnatural it is for him to have remained single for so long. It's just not right, for a man with two children, not to marry again! Not to mention that the twins need a mother to raise them properly. Matty's already as quiet and odd as Shirley was as a child, and Meggie … well, she's sweet enough now, but what will happen to her sweetness and innocence if she grows up without a mother to tell her about life? No, it's the only reasonable thing all the way around, for Una and Shirley to marry. Everyone expects it."

Meggie couldn't bear to hear any more. She uttered one choked little cry, which drew all eyes instantly toward her. Aunt Rilla flushed, realizing the little girl had overheard her careless words.

"Dear …" she started to say, reaching her hand out toward the stricken child.

Meggie merely flashed eyes full of unbearable pain at her aunt, and then turned and fled out the door.

"Oh dear," said Aunt Rilla inadequately.

* * *

Meggie ran to the far end of Rainbow Valley, where she huddled into a pathetic heap underneath a venerable old maple tree. She was not crying—her pain went too deep for tears. Older people might have made light of the child's grief, but to her, those few casual words were a deep tragedy.

She had thought their little family was so happy, so content—but were they really odd? Did people really talk about them? She couldn't bear the thought of anyone criticizing Papa.

She thought that she was able to take care of Papa and Matty well enough—but maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe—she stifled a dry sob—maybe she wasn't good enough. Maybe she and Matty weren't enough for Papa. Maybe he really did want to marry again!

Suppertime came and went, and dusk fell, but Meggie didn't move from her spot. Her bruised heart felt as though it would shatter into pieces if she left her refuge—she didn't think she could bear to see Papa and Aunt Una sitting together and talking, and know that Papa—that Papa—that she and Matty weren't enough for him—and that he needed someone else to make him happy.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_I wasn't quite happy with the way this chapter came out previously. I felt that things got resolved a little too quickly, without adequately showing the depths of Meggie's fear and worry. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter--and resolution--up soon! _


	7. A Father's Love

_**Author's Note: **I revised the previous chapter a couple of days ago (12/04), so if you have not yet read the updated version, you might want to, just so this makes sense)_

* * *

As darkness fell, Meggie knew she needed to go back to the house; with all the people at Ingleside, her absence at the dinner table might have gone unnoticed, but Papa would take note and worry if she stayed out much longer.

She had come to a very important decision, as she crouched amidst the trees and flowers of that lovely valley: if marrying Aunt Una was what was going to make Papa happy, then she, Meggie, would not stand in his way. No matter how much it might hurt her, Papa's happiness was more important than her selfish wishes.

She uncoiled her slender legs, wincing as they cramped a little from being so long tucked up underneath her, and stood unsteadily. It was time to go back and face—everything.

She turned her face toward Ingleside and shivered a little. Why had she not noticed how dark it had gotten? The maple grove between Rainbow Valley and the house was full of rustling, sighing shadows. Usually Meggie loved the night, but tonight—somehow, everything tonight seemed sinister. She shivered again. How was she supposed to walk back alone through the suddenly mysterious valley and pass among the moaning trees?

She looked up hopefully at the sky. If only the moon would come out! In its silver light she would fear nothing.

There was no help forthcoming from that quarter, however. The moon remained hidden behind black clouds, sending out only the weakest of lights. As Meggie watched, however, it did peek out long enough to illumine a bat swooping at some insect.

Meggie squeaked and threw her hands over her head. She had always had a horror of bats, ever since she was very young and had been told that bats sometimes flew into girls' hair and got stuck there. Papa had told her that was an old wives tale, but the fear of bats still remained.

Cowering there, trying to force her paralyzed legs to carry her, Meggie saw a shadowy form slip like a wraith through the dark valley. For just a moment, terror clawed at her throat, but then it came closer, and she recognized it as a boy—her cousin Johnny, in fact.

"Oh Johnny!" she gasped, trying to sound calm as he approached her in his usual silent manner. "I didn't know you were here."

He shrugged. "We just got here a few moments ago. Everyone else is inside fussing over Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy."

Insensibly, Meggie felt herself start to breathe normally again. She never felt that she knew Johnny very well—he refused to let anyone get close—but now, standing in the dark, fresh from her painful vigil, she felt closer to him than ever. "Why are you out here?" she asked curiously.

"I wanted some peace," he mumbled, kicking at the ground with his toe.

Meggie smiled—tremulously, to be sure, but a genuine smile nonetheless. "That _is_ rather hard to find inside," she agreed.

A shy smile, visible even in the weak moonlight, spread over Johnny's face. Meggie was amazed at the difference it made in him—changing him from a plain, rather sullen boy, into someone with a quiet but winning personality and face.

"Why are you out here?" he asked.

"I came out—to—to think," Meggie stammered.

He nodded gravely. He, too, knew about needing to be alone to think.

"And then I was afraid to go back by myself in the dark," she admitted frankly.

He smiled again. "I'll walk back with you," he offered.

"Thank you," she answered, taking his hand.

He looked a little startled, but didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his steps to match hers, and they walked hand-in-hand back toward the house.

The maple grove was still gloomy and scary, but somehow, with Johnny's silent form beside her, Meggie wasn't afraid of anything. For the first time, she felt a sense of kinship with this odd cousin of hers.

* * *

Back at the house, Meggie saw her father, silhouetted against the light streaming out from the open doorway, standing looking out toward them.

"Meggie!" he exclaimed. "There you are. I was about to send a search party after you." He peered uncertainly through the darkness. "Is that Matty with you?"

"No," said Matty himself, moving out from the corner of the verandah where he'd hidden himself after supper. "I'm right here."

"Ah." Shirley didn't say anything more until Meggie and Johnny had climbed the steps and stood before him. Then he shook Johnny's hand.

"Thank you for bringing Meggie back safely, Johnny," he said, just as he would have spoken to an adult. "I'm indebted to you."

Johnny looked surprised at this praise. He didn't say anything, merely gave them his shy smile, and darted back inside. Shirley turned back to his two children, now instinctively huddled together, facing him.

"All right, you two," he said calmly. "Something is going on, and I want to know what. Meggie disappears before supper without a word to anyone, and doesn't come back until well after dark, and Matty sits all through the meal with a thundercloud on his brow and doesn't say a word to anyone, and then sneaks off out here as soon as he's done eating. What's bothering you two?"

Meggie tried to speak, but found her voice had suddenly abandoned her. One part of her wanted to fling herself into Papa's arms and beg him not to marry Aunt Una, while the other part wanted to tell him it was all right, he could marry anyone he wanted, if it would make him happy. Torn between these two desires, her throat froze up with indecision.

It was Matty who answered, coming straight to the point in his direct way.

"Papa," he asked bluntly. "Are you going to marry Aunt Una?"

"What?" Shirley asked in amazement. "Whatever put that idea into your heads?"

At the surprise in his tone, Meggie found herself able to speak again. It didn't _sound_ like Papa had any plans to marry. "Aunt Rilla said … said that everyone expected you to. And that … that you needed a wife … to make you happy." Her voice trembled a bit on the last words.

"And Gil and Blythe both told me that their mothers said it was a sure thing that you and Aunt Una were going to be married," Matty added, his own voice perhaps not as steady as he would have liked.

Shirley stood silent for a moment. Then he let out a huge sigh. "Children ... come here," he said finally, motioning to Grandmother's old porch swing.

He sat down in the middle, with one twin snuggled on either side of him, his arms around them both. Meggie rested her head against his rough sleeve, feeling better simply by being close to Papa.

"Your Aunt Una is a dear, sweet lady, and I find her one of the best chums I could ask for—aside from you two. And she could never, ever, be anything else to me. I am not going to marry her … I couldn't."

Overwhelmed by feelings of relief, Meggie turned her face into his coat and cried helplessly. Shirley swiftly gathered her into his lap and stroked her hair.

"Dear heart … how long have you been fretting over this?"

Matty answered for both of them. "Ever since we found out about Uncle Bruce's wedding."

Shirley shook his head. "All this time," he murmured helplessly. "Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

Meggie hiccoughed and raised her head, sniffing slightly. "If you—if you really wanted to marry her, we didn't want to make you upset. Aunt Rilla said you were lonely—we want you to be happy, Papa."

"My dear ones …" Shirley said with a catch in his throat. "You suffered all this time, just because you didn't want me to be unhappy?" He shook his head. "Never did a man have such children as you—I am so blessed." He fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. "Listen to me now. Your Aunts Rilla and Nan are wonderful ladies, but it in incomprehensible to them that a man could possibly be happy without being married.

"I loved your mother as much as a man could love a woman. I never thought I could love anyone so much as I loved her—and then you two were born. I thought my heart would burst with joy and love the first moment I laid eyes on you. Even though we lost your mother, I knew that as long as we three had each other, we'd be all right. You two fill my life with joy, and have ever since you were born. How could I want anything more?"

There was silence for a long moment as the three nestled close together. Then Matty spoke up again.

"Papa … what was Mama like?"

Shirley tilted his head back and stared up into the sky. "Your mother was—sweetness personified," he said softly. "She looked very like you, my Meggie, only with blue eyes. I remember being amazed at the blueness of her eyes the first time I met her … and I never ceased to be amazed, every time I looked at her.

"She was never very strong physically, but she had the strongest spirit of anyone I've ever met. In all the time I knew her, even when she was in the midst of her worst pain, she never complained, never whined, just endured it with grace and courage. She never said anything bad about anyone—I don't believe she ever even _thought_ anything bad about anyone. She blessed my life for a few short years, and then God took her."

"When we were born," Meggie said sadly, mourning this mother she'd never known.

Shirley's arms tightened around her. "She was glad to give her life in exchange for yours, my children. Never doubt that. She loved you from the moment she knew you were coming, and rejoiced in the thought that she was going to bring two such amazing children into this world. Even though she knew she would never know you, she loved thinking about you, and the people you would grow up to be."

He freed one arm to include Matty in his hug. "She would be very, very proud of you. And so am I. I love you two so much."

"I love you too, Papa," said Meggie.

"I love you, Papa," echoed Matty.

Silence reigned again, until the voices and laughter from inside floated out the open window and reminded them that they were expected inside at some point. Shirley sighed. He would much rather have spent the evening quietly with his children, but he knew his duty. Besides, he intended to have a little chat with his sisters about their matchmaking, and the sooner the better.

"I suppose we should go in," he said.

His children echoed his sigh. "I think I can face people now," Meggie confided. "Even Aunt Rilla!"

Shirley laughed and ruffled her curls. "Tell me, children dearest, what first put the idea of my marrying Aunt Una in your heads? You said you'd been worrying about it since earlier this summer, before Aunt Rilla or Gilly and Blythe said anything."

"It was Auntie Di—she said something about you two talking about Aunt Una—we thought it was about you marrying her," Meggie explained, feeling light as a feather now. Even the night didn't look anywhere near as frightening as it had an hour ago!

Shirley shook his head. "Your aunt was worried that if Una and I spent much time together—which we like to do to get away from the chatter of the rest of our families, occasionally—the Glen gossips would start spreading rumors. Auntie Di was warning me, trying to protect my and Aunt Una's reputations."

Meggie drew in a sigh of relief. Everything was all right, now. She could even feel some curiosity about Uncle Bruce's almost-bride. What would she be like?


	8. Meggie Makes a Friend

Meggie skipped cheerfully toward Ingleside's kitchen, meeting Matty on his way out. Her twin bore a cookie in each hand, while crumbs around his mouth indicated the former presence of several others.

"They threw me out," he said cheerfully, waving a cookie at her.

"I should think so," Meggie said with mock severity. "Did you leave any cookies at all?"

"Yes," piped up Gilly, coming along behind Matty. "But what he left, I ate."

They continued toward Rainbow Valley, while Meggie entered the kitchen, giggling at their antics.

Auntie Di and Aunt Una were the only two in the kitchen, Auntie Di washing the lovely old Ingleside dishes, while Aunt Una carefully washed them and put them away. The racks of cookies stood cooling on the table behind them as their voices mingled and raised in girlish laughter, momentarily young ladies again, with no responsibilities and troubles to burden them.

Auntie Di cast a look over her shoulder at Meggie. "Are you here to raid us of more cookies, dear?" she asked gaily. "Your brother and cousins have already almost cleaned us out."

"No," smiled Meggie. "I was just looking for Aunt Betsy."

"She's in the parlor," said Aunt Una—_dear_ Aunt Una! Now that the specter of her marrying Papa was gone, Meggie loved this aunt almost more than any other—except Auntie Di, of course. "I believe Lily and Polly are talking her ear off about whether they will be allowed to stay up for the dancing after the wedding tomorrow."

Auntie Di frowned. "Even if Betsy puts in a good word for Polly, her father will never consent. Twelve is far too young for dances."

Aunt Rilla, entering the kitchen in time to hear that last statement, sighed. "I was wild to start going to parties when I was twelve. How long ago that seems now!"

Meggie, slipping quietly into the parlor, wrinkled her brow in thought. What she had to tell was for Aunt Betsy's ears only, but she didn't know how she could tell her without Polly and Lily overhearing. Normally she would have loved to share this with the other girls, but now she wanted to have something special to give to Aunt Betsy, all by herself.

Elizabeth Ann Fisher had instantly won the hearts of all her soon-to-be nieces and nephews. Younger than the rest of the aunts by eight years or more, her simple manners and open charm endeared her at once to the Blythe young fry. Although she wasn't the beauty the more romantic of her nieces had been hoping for, her honest, healthy face, with its warm brown eyes and affectionate smile, had something better than mere beauty. Most of the children were too young to quite qualify what it was about her they loved so much, but Meggie, with the instincts that made her considered "odd" by those who knew not Joseph, sensed that Aunt Betsy had found the secret to simple happiness, and was willing to share it with anyone who was interested, and this was what drew people so naturally to her.

She hovered in the entryway to the parlor, peeking around the corner hopefully. Maybe the girls would have lost interest in the dance by now and wandered off …

Alas! It was not to be. Aunt Betsy was curled up on the hearth rug, her brown head gleaming next to the shining golden chrysanthemums Aunt Faith had placed in the empty fireplace. Her trim black shoes peeked out demurely from beneath her simple red skirt, while her wide mouth curled up in a chummy smile as she listened intently to the girls sitting side-by-side before her. Dee had joined her older cousins, and red, gold, and nut-brown heads all moved emphatically as they presented their reasons as to why they should be allowed to stay up for the dance.

Meggie sighed. How was she ever going to get Aunt Betsy to herself?

Her sigh was echoed from a greater level beside her. The little girl turned her head in alarm to see that Uncle Bruce was standing on the other side of the doorway, also staring out at the four in the parlor.

He turned his head to look down at her, a rueful smile softening his usually stern mouth. "It is a rather hard thing, isn't it, when a man can't even get his bride-to-be to himself for a few moments?"

Meggie still wasn't sure how she felt about this imposing uncle of hers—he was _so_ tall, and so forceful!—but her warm little heart couldn't help but respond to the gloom in his voice.

"It's only one more day until the wedding," she pointed out softly.

"Very true," he nodded. "I don't suppose I can rightly complain—a man as blessed as I am has no business complaining about anything," he finished absently, more to himself than to the curious child beside him. As though suddenly remembering her presence, he turned his head back to observe her from forbiddingly dark eyes.

"And what is it that caused your sigh, little Joanna?"

Nobody had ever called Meggie by her first name, not as long as she could remember. Oddly enough, she rather liked the sound of it coming from Uncle Bruce—it made her feel more grown-up and special.

"Oh," she said sadly. "I just found a patch of wild strawberries that I wanted to show Aunt Betsy."

"Wild strawberries in August? What magic did you work to create those, child?" Uncle Bruce asked whimsically.

Meggie found herself smiling shyly at him. Really, he wasn't _very_ scary—if only his voice weren't quite so deep! "They're tucked away in a corner of Rainbow Valley that hardly ever sees the sun. I guess it stays behind everywhere else—Matty and I found mayflowers there earlier this summer, after they had gone by everywhere else." She smiled wistfully, looking into the other room again. "I thought Aunt Betsy would like to see them—but I don't want to give away the secret to the other girls. Matty and I found the spot—I can't betray him."

Uncle Bruce squatted down, bringing his face down to the same level as hers. "Would it be betraying Matty if you showed me where it was?"

"I don't think so," Meggie answered wonderingly. "I think you can be trusted."

"Thank you," he said seriously. "Then how would it be if you and I went together and picked some of those strawberries for Betsy? We can give them to her ourselves, and keep where we found them a secret—ours and Matty's. What do you say?"

Half an hour ago, Meggie would have rather died a thousand deaths than do anything alone with her dreaded Uncle Bruce, but seeing him now, with his face so close to hers, she realized he wasn't scary at all—just serious, and maybe even a little bit sad. Why sad, she wondered, and then decided it didn't matter. She smiled her brilliant smile at him.

"I think that would be wonderful," she said happily.

His smile matched hers for brilliancy and joy. "Let's go, then."

Side by side, they slipped back through the kitchen and out toward Rainbow Valley, watched fondly by Di and Una.

* * *

The walk was very silent, but it was the comfortable silence between friends, not the awkward silence that grows between two people who have nothing to say to each other. Meggie was still amazed at her discovery that Uncle Bruce was a "kindred spirit" after all, while Bruce himself was enjoying the chance to get to know one of the quieter and gentler of his nieces.

"Look at that, Joanna," he said suddenly, stopping and taking her arm, pointing with his free hand.

Meggie looked, and saw three wild geese winging their way south against a brilliant blue sky, their stark black silhouettes outlined sharply by the noonday sun. There was about the simple scene a sense of poignancy and wild loneliness that tugged deeply at Meggie's heart.

"Oh," she breathed.

Uncle Bruce nodded in satisfaction. "Yes—you understand. Not one person in a hundred would understand that—especially not a child. You are unique, Joanna girl."

Unique might have been nothing more than a politer way to say odd, but Meggie still felt that she had received a high compliment—made all the more precious because of its rarity, for Uncle Bruce was not the type to give compliments lightly.

She wondered why he called her Joanna, but decided not to ask. Somehow, it just fit, coming from Uncle Bruce. It wasn't chummily affectionate, like Peter's nicknames for her, but it was still special in its own—she smiled to herself—_unique_ way.

Soon enough, they were at the shady dell where the strawberries grew. Meggie felt a thrill of anticipation at showing Uncle Bruce the glowing red jewels against the dark backdrop of the trees and fallen leaves, but her eagerness quickly turned to outrage when she saw a bending figure there before them, stripping the berries from their stems one by one and dropping them in a basket.

"Why," she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

The figure turned, and they saw that it was Johnny.

"None of your business," he answered defiantly.

"Come now," said Uncle Bruce, stepping forward. "There's no need to be rude. It's a simple question. Nobody's accusing you of anything." He cocked a fierce black brow at Meggie, and she felt the unspoken nudge.

"Of course not," she said quickly, smiling kindly at Johnny's sullen face. "I was just surprised. I didn't think anyone but Matty and I knew about this little spot."

He shrugged his shoulders and shuffled his feet. "I—I just found it this morning," he finally mumbled reluctantly. "I wanted to come back and pick some berries for Mum. She—she was cross with me this morning because I was mean to Dee. I thought she might forgive me if I gave her the berries." He looked up, scowling. "I didn't _mean_ to make Dee cry. She was making fun of me because none of the other boys ever want to play with me. So I told her that Lily and Polly didn't like her tagging after them all the time, only they were too polite to say anything. Then she cried, and Mum came in and scolded me." He looked down at the ground again, biting his lip.

"I hate it when she's mad at me," he said quietly, more to himself than to the other two. "But I never do anything right."

He looked up again, his face resigned. "I'll leave, if you want the berries for yourself."

Again, an unspoken communication passed between Bruce and Meggie.

"Not at all," said Uncle Bruce. "Meggie was just showing me the phenomenon of finding wild strawberries in August."

Meggie wasn't quite sure what a _phenomenon_ was, but she nodded vigorously, backing Uncle Bruce up. "After all, the strawberries are as much yours as they are ours, Johnny," she said. "I'm sure Auntie Nan will like them."

Johnny's unexpected smile briefly illuminated his face. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

"Come on, child dear," said Uncle Bruce, catching Meggie's hand. "Let's leave Johnny to his task."

"'Bye, Johnny," Meggie said softly.

He dipped his head awkwardly as they left, and stood for a moment silently watching them before turning back to the berries.

"After all," said Uncle Bruce once they were out of earshot. "Betsy would rather that poor child find some comfort than enjoy the berries herself."

His words were somewhat oblique, but Meggie understood the sentiment behind them, and whole-heartedly agreed. She remembered Johnny's thoughtfulness toward her on the night she thought Papa was going to marry Aunt Una, and wished she could do something more for him.

Uncle Bruce shook his head, releasing some of his gravity. "Well," he said briskly. "Enough of this. We're becoming maudlin! Come, Joanna, what say you and I take a stroll along the shore? There are no strawberries there, but we might be able to find some seashells to charm our Betsy. She's from the mountains, you know, so she's not particularly conversant with seashores. I think she might find even more pleasure in some beautiful shells than a few berries—which, however delectable they may be, only last for a moment, and then are naught but a delicious memory. Seashells, if handled with care, will last a lifetime."

Meggie's dimples flashed out. "I think that's a _splendid_ idea," she said earnestly.

Uncle Bruce looked around conspiratorially. Seeing no one in sight, he leaned down and hissed, "Let's run."

Meggie's giggles echoed through the air as, hand in hand, the two of them flashed down the red road to the shore, Meggie's short legs trying desperately to keep up with her uncle's lengthy stride.

* * *

They reached the harbor safely, having passed several scandalized townswomen, who shook their heads, groaned, and mused that "Young Rev. Meredith" was going to be a shocking downgrade from _their_ Reverend Meredith, conveniently forgetting how thoroughly they had disapproved of the elder Rev. Meredith in his early days in the Glen.

Uncle Bruce shook his shaggy dark head in the tangy salt air, laughing with a freedom and openness Meggie had never yet seen in him.

"I have missed this, the land of my birth," he said, sobering. "New England is a beautiful place"—

"Yes, it is," agreed Meggie, thinking of visiting Grandmamma and Grandpapa Irving in Boston,

—"But it simply cannot compare to the land of the maple," he concluded.

"No," she agreed once more, gazing at the blue gulf with loving eyes.

"What is it the immortal _Dorothy_ said?" he asked whimsically. " 'Oh Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be home again!' "

They spent the next hour wandering along the shore, Meggie holding her skirts daintily in one hand, Bruce with his pants legs rolled up to his knees, and his shoes knotted together by their laces and slung around his neck. With his shirt opened at the collar and his hair blowing in the sea breeze, he looked the very image of a disreputable fisherman, but Meggie thought privately that he also looked happier than he ever did in "proper" attire.

Their search for seashells was at first disappointing. First Meggie found one, all striped and pearly, but Uncle Bruce dismissed it because a corner was chipped off.

"You're too fussy," Meggie said in some exasperation.

"Nothing but the best for my bride," he replied dreamily.

Had Matty been with them, he would have rolled his eyes; Lily and Polly would have sighed in romantic delight. Meggie simply shrugged her shoulders and went on looking.

But it was Bruce who found the next one, a perfect shape, with no damage whatsoever. This time it was Meggie's turn to condemn it.

"It's _boring_," she objected. "There's no color or interest at all to it!"

Uncle Bruce scowled. "Are you going to criticize all my choices?"

"Do you want to disappoint Aunt Betsy?" Meggie countered spiritedly.

He heaved a sigh, and they continued to search.

Finally, Meggie found a nautilus she thought was perfect—it was tiny, but in one piece, and the loveliest shade of muted purple, with little streaks of silver running through it.

"Ah," breathed Uncle Bruce, as she triumphantly held it up for inspection. "Now _that_ is a gem fit for my queen."

Meggie found two more—not quite as lovely, but still acceptable, and then Uncle Bruce made his glorious discovery.

"Look, Joanna!" he cried in delight. He bent down and picked up a sea star, with all five of its legs still intact. "Betsy has never seen a sea star before," he continued gleefully. "She'll be thrilled over this."

Meggie was nearly as pleased as he was over his discovery, but she couldn't help feeling somewhat sad, as well. Uncle Bruce must have seen the change in her expressive face, for he lowered the star and faced her seriously. "What's troubling you, little girl?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I just—it just makes me a little sad to think that a short while ago, maybe, this sea star was swimming around happily in the ocean, and now it's dead."

"It is always sad when a living thing dies," Uncle Bruce agreed. "Life is a precious gift, not to be squandered or taken lightly." His face was pensive for a moment. "I hope, when my life is over, that I have left something behind to inspire and delight people. Just as this sea star is still a source of beauty, I hope my legacy is worth something. It's a grave responsibility, living is."

Meggie hadn't quite followed everything he said, but she loved his odd way of jumping from topic to topic, and speaking out his thoughts just as they came to him. No less did she love his way of speaking to her as though she were capable of understanding everything an adult could—something Papa and Peter both did, but no one else.

She also felt strangely comforted about the sea star—even if it was dead, it could still bring happiness to someone.

She shook herself, not wanting to think any more about death or anything gloomy on a beautiful day such as this. The sun was shining, the air fresh and clean, Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy were marrying tomorrow, and everything was wonderful. She was ten years old, and life stretched out before her in a symphony of perfect notes, a glorious harmony.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Aunt Betsy is based on a character from one of my most beloved books from my childhood: _Understood Betsy_. The quote from _Dorothy_ is from the end of _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_. The phrase: "There's no place like home," was popularized from the movie (I'm not even sure if it's in the book at all), but this is the same idea :)_

_I'll post more next year! (HaHa) Happy New Year's Eve, everyone._


	9. Farewell to Ingleside

The morning of Bruce and Betsy's wedding day dawned damp and drizzly, with the sun only making half-hearted attempts to peek through the fog rolling in from the harbor.

"Oh dear," sighed Lily, standing at her window, drawing aside the curtain to look out. "I did so hope it would be fine. It just won't seem like a proper wedding without the sun shining."

Polly joined her. "In some cultures, it's considered good luck to have rain on your wedding day," she said comfortingly.

"Besides," Meggie pointed out, sitting up in bed, "They're getting married in the church, so whatever the weather's doing outside won't really matter."

"I know," Lily said, smiling bravely. "I just wanted everything to be perfect."

"It's not the weather that will make this wedding perfect, chicks," said Aunt Faith, entering the room. "It's the people involved." She smiled down at them. "Well, I was coming in to wake you up, but I see you anticipated me. Lily, love, I made sure to keep the washroom empty for you. Run along now and start getting ready."

Her daughter's weak smile turned brilliant as, gathering her beloved lavender dress into her arms, she rushed into the washroom just ahead of her brother Walt, shutting the door right in his indignant face.

Polly and Meggie, still in their pajamas, watched from the doorway of Lily's bedroom, giggling slightly at Walt's surprised expression.

"Come on, you two," Aunt Faith said, drawing them back into the room and shutting the door. "Just because you're not in the wedding doesn't mean you can lie about all day." Her twinkling eyes belied her stern tone, and they smiled up at her whole-heartedly.

Really, Meggie thought, no other grown-ups in the world were quite as wonderful as theirs.

"Start getting ready yourselves," Aunt Faith continued. "As soon as you're dressed, come downstairs. We women have much to do today!"

Proud at being classified with the _women_, the two made sure not to dawdle. It only took Polly moments to slip into her navy "dress-up" dress, and then she was able to help Meggie make sure all the lace was even on her rose-colored frock.

"You look just like a wild rose in that dress, Meggie," the older girl sighed as she brushed out her bronze hair. "I so wish I could wear pink."

Meggie studied her cousin critically, running a brush through her own curls. "I think you could—some shades," she said. "Your hair is darker than Auntie Di's—it has more brown in it. Besides, the navy makes you look very grown-up."

As she had hoped, this compliment made Polly beam. "Do I really? I wish Dad had agreed to let me stay for the dance, but he put his foot down." She pouted momentarily. "I wish he'd realize I'm not a little girl anymore!"

"Oh well," said Meggie, with the cheerful assurance of one who had no interest in such things. "There'll be plenty more dances."

Polly gave her cousin a half-loving, half-exasperated look, and the two went down the stairs together.

"Well! Don't you both look lovely!" said Auntie Di, waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. She looked like a girl herself in a rich blue dress with a flared skirt and frothy bertha collar around her shoulders.

"Hurry and eat," she said now, steering them into the kitchen. "We have to meet Auntie Nan, Dee, and Aunt Una at the church to put up the decorations and arrange the flowers."

The girls rushed through their breakfasts in a way that would have horrified their parents at any other time, but was barely even glanced at now, waved goodbye to Grandmother Blythe, who was staying at Ingleside to help prepare the bridal party, and rushed out the door toward the church, only taking the time to snatch at raincoats to protect their finery.

The rest of the morning "whizzed by" as Polly inelegantly put it. The cousins—Polly, Meggie, Dee, and even Anna and Ally, who at first had been thought too young to help with the decorating, only allowed to join after Aunt Betsy made a plea for them—had great fun working with their elders, especially hearing remembrances of their own weddings.

"I still think your wedding was one of the nicest I've ever been to," Aunt Faith said to Aunt Rilla, who smiled at the compliment.

"It was very simple, but I thought it rather nice," she laughed back. "Although yours and Jem's still stands out in the family annals—you were the first of us to wed, you know!"

"I'm still trying to decide if I should forgive you all for my wedding," Auntie Di put in with a mock scowl on her face as she tied up a purple tulle bow.

Polly giggled. She had been five when Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick got married—the last of the orphans from Di's legendary asylum—and she still had vague memories of that day.

"Now Di," said Aunt Rilla placidly, "You were the last of us to get married—you simply _had_ to have a big wedding."

"All I wanted was something simple and quiet," Auntie Di mused. "Instead I was forced into the show of the year at the Glen."

"You should have eloped, like Jerry and I did," laughed Auntie Nan.

Dee let out a yelp of surprise. "_Mummy_! You and Daddy _eloped_?"

"Why yes, dear, we did," Auntie Nan answered calmly.

Dee's chocolate eyes were enormous at this unexpected revelation. Polly sighed dreamily,

"How romantic," she whispered to Meggie,

and the decorating continued.

* * *

By noon, the church was overflowing with ribbons, tulle, and flowers. Grandmother was in the bride's room off the foyer with Aunt Betsy, her sister Molly, who had arrived the day before to act as maid of honor, and Lily. Meggie was seated near the front with Papa and Matty, awaiting the start of things breathlessly. Papa smiled down at her lighted face.

"Excited?"

She nodded. "I can't wait to see them all," she said quietly.

On the other side of Shirley, Matty shifted restlessly. "I just want to get to the reception and eat—breakfast was a long time ago," he grumbled half-heartedly.

Mrs. Boyle, at the organ, started playing at that moment, causing everyone to hush, and forcing Shirley into a bout of silent laughter over his son's remark, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his mirth.

Meggie, however, forgot all about it as she craned her head to see Lily walking up the aisle. Her lavender dress falling in soft waves around the tops of her ankles, a wreath of white freesia atop her golden head, she looked like a princess as she walked gracefully toward the front, trying hard not to smile, clutching her bouquet of love-in-the-mist tightly.

Meggie's heart nearly burst with pride at her elegant cousin who was performing her duties so well. She thought, as she had so often thought before, that Lily had to have something special in store for her—she could not be so poised and beautiful for nothing.

Following Lily was Molly Fisher, a dainty fairy of a young woman, with clouds of golden hair and a pink-and-white face above her gown, a shade darker than Lily's.

Meggie could only spare her a glance, however; her attention was now riveted on Aunt Betsy.

Garbed in a floor-skimming dress of cream satin, her brown hair swept up and away from her face under a cream hat, leaving only a few tendrils to curl 'round her cheeks, she looked more beautiful than any of them had dreamed possible. Meggie wrenched her gaze away briefly to look at Uncle Bruce.

The expression on his face, as he watched his bride walk toward him, brought a lump to Meggie's throat, though she didn't quite know why. He looked happy and sad and proud and frightened all at once—along with something else she couldn't define, though her father could have told her it was true love shining out from his eyes.

Feeling suddenly very young, Meggie huddled a little closer to her Papa. He reached down and put his arm around her, squeezing her reassuringly. She sensed instinctively that he was thinking of Mama, and sighed a little. She did wish she had one memory of her mother, just one. She couldn't remember ever even seeing a picture of her.

The sound of Uncle Bruce's deep voice pulled her out of her reverie, and she straightened up to pay attention to the rest of the ceremony. She didn't want to miss any of it!

* * *

The young fry were allowed to stay at the reception for a little while before they had to go back to Ingleside with Grandmother, who claimed she was far too old for dances. Meggie waited patiently at the end of the receiving line, behind innumerable old women who seemed to want to talk and talk and talk to the newly married couple.

Finally, Meggie was able to hug them both, Uncle Bruce first, and then Aunt Betsy, who pulled something out her little handbag conspiratorially to show the little girl.

"Look," she whispered, cupping the item in her hand. Meggie blinked. It was the nautilus shell she had given Aunt Betsy last night, the purple and silver one. "It's so beautiful," the happy bride continued, "That I felt sure it would bring me luck today, so I slipped it into my bag." She winked audaciously. "I didn't trip coming down the aisle, or forget my vows, or sneeze right as I was going to tell Bruce 'I do,' or anything like I imagined I might, so it must have worked!"

Meggie beamed. "I'm so glad you like it," she said in her soft voice.

Aunt Betsy put her arm around her for another squeeze. "Like it? I'll cherish it always—and you're an absolute dear to think of giving it to me."

Meggie moved on down the line, wishing as she did so that Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy were going to be living in Avonlea, instead of Glen St. Mary. She had quite forgotten by now that she had ever been afraid of Uncle Bruce, and only thought of how much she would like to be able to see them whenever she wished.

But, she reasoned with herself, she shouldn't be selfish. After all, she had Papa, Matty, Peter, and Auntie Di. She couldn't expect to have Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy, too. She had to share _some_ of her family with other people, she supposed.

"Meggie!" Lily hugged her tempestuously. "Wasn't it glorious? Oh, I can't wait until I'm old enough to get married."

"You'll have to have a husband for that, you know," Shirley's deep voice came from behind Meggie, where he had finished congratulating the young couple.

Lily made a face. "I know, Uncle Shirley. It would be nice to be able to have a wedding without the bother of a husband, but I suppose it's worth it."

"I expect you'll think so when the time actually arrives," Shirley agreed, his eyes twinkling.

"Heaven forbid," said Uncle Jem, who, having already gone through the line, was now hovering behind his daughter, scowling blackly at any boy who dared look at her twice.

Matty was urgently poking his father, reminding him of the food at the other end of the fellowship hall, so the three of them quickly finished and made their way across the room.

"Well, my children, we leave for home tomorrow. Has it been a good trip?" Shirley asked them once they were settled.

Meggie thought back to her night of fear over Papa marrying Aunt Una, her unexpected rescue by Johnny, and her new friendship with Uncle Bruce. Overall, she decided, the good far outweighed the bad. "Very," she said aloud.

Matty nodded. "But I'm ready to go home," he added. "It's almost harvest time."

Meggie, too, was ready to return to Green Gables. She felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of the harvest—preparing the old house and garden for winter. This year, too, there was Echo Lodge to consider. It was going to be fun to bed _it_ down for winter, as well.

Shirley sighed in agreement with his children. He had done his duty by his family and been sociable long enough; now he was ready to return to his solitude and peace in Avonlea.

A hint of sadness ran over Meggie. The only bad thing about harvest time was that it meant Peter and Bran would both be leaving again—Peter to return to Kingsport and Redmond for another year, and Bran to finish his time at Queen's.

That was the way of life, though … there were good and bad parts to all of it. As long as they remained mingled in equal measure, though, it wasn't too bad. It was only when the bad outweighed the good that life became difficult to bear. For now, though, life was offering more good than ill, and Meggie in her innocence thought that things would always be this way, and was content.


	10. From Kingsport to Avonlea

Peter and Bran went back to school the last week of August, Bran cheerfully anticipating his last year at Queen's, Peter grimly resigned to another year where his obligatory social activities would harrow his soul and interfere with his beloved studies.

Meggie saw them go with a few tears, but the letters that started coming that very next week helped comfort her.

"_Dear chum,_" Peter wrote,

_"I am settled in for another semester, and already wishing I was back at Echo Lodge with you. I am rooming with a chap from Bolingbroke, a grandson of one of Grandmother's college friends. She and Mrs. Blake—that's the grandmother—arranged it all this summer. I'm glad enough of a roommate, but Blake—he was named Blake for his mother's maiden name, Blake Wilson—and I are like oil and water. He's terribly social—rarely even looks at his schoolbooks—I'm not sure if he's shown up for more than one of his classes (and it's only the first week!)—he says he doesn't care if he graduates or not; he's only here for the fun of it._

_"All this wouldn't be quite so bad, except he's made it very clear that he fully expects me to join in with all his social activities, and considers anyone who actually wants to study at college a bore._

_"Aside from that, I think I'm going to like my classes. My Ancient History class promises to be quite fascinating. I'm glad I chose History as my major—I love looking at the past, seeing how it has affected us now, and wondering what our future will be like, based on past patterns. I'm sad to say I don't think our future is particularly promising—but whenever I get too discouraged about the direction our world is heading, I think of you and Matty and Polly, and I decide that the future can't be too bleak, as long as there are people like you in the world._

_"I miss you very much, and wish somehow there was a way to take you with me as a sort of talisman against stress and frustration, everywhere I go. As there isn't, however, I will settle for asking for a snap of you—just a small one that I can put in my wallet, so that when I'm feeling too discouraged, I can pull it out and look at it, and remind myself that someone back home is loving me and believing in me, and I will be encouraged and inspired to do my best. You don't know how good you are for me, fawn._

_"Give my best to your father and brother, and if you have time, take a stroll down to Echo Lodge and call to the echoes for me. Sometimes, amidst all the hurrying and bustle of Redmond and Kingsport, I stop and think of the little stone house, so peaceful and quiet, and I can almost hear the echoes mocking the sounds of city life, putting it in its proper perspective._

_"Write soon, and don't forget about the snap. Love always,_

_"Peter Richard Campion Samuels, more fondly known as,_

_"Your cousin, Peter."_

Meggie shook her curls wisely over the letter. "It's going to be a hard year for him," she prophesied to her vanity mirror. Although she didn't want him to suffer, there was some satisfaction in knowing how much he was going to need her encouragement this year.

She wrote him back that very night, including with her letter a recent snapshot Matty had taken of her one day when he was playing with his Brownie. She had been leaning up against Sakura's trunk, looking off across the fields and dreaming, while a light breeze ruffled the hair around her face. Matty had snapped her without her realizing he was doing so, and the result was a wonderfully natural capture of her spirit and dreams shining through her face.

_"Dearest Peter,_

_"Here is the photo you asked for. In return, will you send me one of yourself? I'd like to set it up on my desk when I write to you; that way it will feel more like I'm talking to you, not just putting words on a blank piece of paper._

_"School started up two days ago. Our teacher this year is Miss Craig. I think she'll be a very good teacher, but there's no poetry in her. She already told us that she will tolerate no nonsense in her classroom. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I'm afraid that I will have to stick to prosy facts in my essays this year."_

Meggie paused and looked up for a moment. The truth was that Miss Craig seemed to have taken an unaccountable dislike to Polly, which extended to her cousins, as well, and the rebuke about "no nonsense" had been directly aimed at the two girls. Matty had noticed it as well, so it wasn't merely her imagination, but she didn't want to write that to Peter. He was so protective of Polly, and if he was worrying about her, he wouldn't be able to focus on his own work.

Besides, Meggie reasoned, it was really Polly's business. If she wanted her brother to know, she should be the one to tell him. She bent to the letter once more.

_"Papa said there was some talk about expanding the school from a one-room schoolhouse with only one teacher into a school like they have in the Glen now—with different classrooms for each grade and a teacher for each. They decided against it, however, because Avonlea is so small there wouldn't be more than five students in the largest grade! I'm glad; it would just be _strange_ not to have everyone in the same room. Besides, both Grandmother and Papa taught in the schoolhouse. It's almost a family tradition! Sometimes I think I can see them there, teaching still, Grandmother as a young woman, with red hair like Auntie Di's, encouraging her students to dream, and Papa, looking the same as he does now, quietly correcting papers. I see them—and then they're gone, and it's only Miss Craig again._

_"I suppose that's what she would call nonsense. But I really do see them sometimes, Peter. Maybe it's because they've both told so many stories about teaching, or maybe I am odd, like May Sloane told me the other day. I'd been telling her one of my fancies about the Haunted Wood—you know, how I think that if I could get there some moonlit night I'd find the entrance to fairyland—and she looked at me as though I'd gone crazy._

_" 'You _are_ odd,' she said. 'Mother always said you Blythes were strange.'_

_"When I told Papa that, he laughed and said that May's mother was a Pye before her marriage, and not to worry about anything _she_ says!_

_"I went down to Echo Lodge yesterday by myself and just walked around the garden, remembering our fun there this summer. It looked happy to see me. Oh Peter, I've just had such a lovely thought! When we all grow up, we should live in Echo Lodge—you and Matty and Polly and Bran and me. Wouldn't that be grand? It would never be lonely again. I called to the echoes before I left, and they sounded distinctly mournful—I think they were reproaching me for going away._

_"Matty and Papa and Uncle Patrick have been busy with the harvest, and Auntie Di, Polly and I are planning our canning and preserving. The apples will be ready for picking in just a couple of weeks, and that will be such fun. We'll miss you and Bran, though! Polly and I are already exchanging recipes for apple tarts, pies, dumplings, and other goodies. I'm not sure which is more fun, picking the apples or cooking with them. Matty says eating them is the most fun!_

_"I've been writing far too long, and now it's time for bed, and I'll have to get up early tomorrow to work those sums Miss Craig gave me. Math seems like such an unimportant subject. I wish I could study history, like you are, and then we could talk about it. Matty likes math, though. Isn't that strange? I can't imagine ever being able to do more than tolerate it._

_"I hope things smooth out between you and Blake. Write soon and tell me how you are doing. I miss you, very much._

_"Your loving little chum,_

_"Meggie." _

To Meggie's delight, Peter's reply came so promptly that he must have written back immediately upon receiving her letter.

_"Dearest little cousin,_

_"Thank you a thousand times for your letter and photograph. I keep the snap in my wallet, along with one of Polly, and that dreadful one of Mum's I found this summer—you remember, the one of her when she was at Redmond? The sun was in her eyes, and so she looks like she's cross-eyed and annoyed. She wanted to tear it up when I showed it to her, but I rescued it and now I look at it whenever I need a smile. Sadly, that has been happening more and more often these days._

_"I know it's wrong to complain, and in my letters to the others I keep a stiff upper lip, but I think I'll burst if I don't have at least _one_ outlet. You don't mind being my release valve, do you? Some of the chaps here think it's odd that my dearest friend is my ten-year-old cousin, but that's because they don't know you and the good sense you have in that curly mahogany head of yours. You're like Uncle Shirley—there's so much more to you than anyone would imagine. Tell you the truth, I usually forget the eight-year difference between us; I think of you as a peer. I guess age doesn't really matter, what matters is what Grandmother calls 'kindred spirits.' _

_"Anyhow, now to vent. Last week, Blake started getting after me to join the Lambs. I told him I wasn't interested, but I think he feels it is his duty to pull me out of my world of books and studies and into his world of dates and fraternities and everything else. He's a Lamb himself, and he must have put my name in, for I received an invitation two days ago. I haven't even told Mum about this, so please keep it to yourself, fawn. I tore it up and dropped it in the trash. Blake was furious, but then yesterday he told me he'd met a 'swell girl' he wants me to meet. He has a 'steady' girlfriend now (which for him means they've been together longer than two weeks), and he wants to start going on 'double dates.' _

_"Meggie, you know how I feel about girls! I don't know how to talk to them; they look at me coyly, and giggle, and my tongue swells and my brain freezes and I can't say one intelligible word. I told Blake that I don't have time for girls, but I'm afraid that he's going to suddenly spring this one on me sometime, and then I'll be stuck._

_"The odd thing is that I really don't dislike Blake. You'd think, with all this frustration, that I wouldn't be able to stand him, but there's something about him … I get mad in the moment, but about five minutes afterward, he's grinning and laughing, and I just can't stay angry. He reminds me a little of Bran in that way. I guess you'd say he has charm. If he could just get it through his head that I don't want to live his life, I think we could be good friends._

_"Don't listen to a word that horrid Sloane girl says to you! She ought to at least learn the basics of personal hygiene before she goes about insulting other people. I never see any of that family without wanting to grab a bar of soap and clean behind their ears. May's brother Artie—he's around Polly's age, and took it into his head to fancy her last year—could have grown crops in the dirt he had on his neck. Polly was too sweet to discourage him, so Bran and I sent him packing. _

_"Besides, would you want to be ordinary? That would be worse than being odd. As for Miss Craig—well, you know that entire family is kind and good, but have absolutely no imagination. Rev. Craig is a very good preacher, but Mrs. Craig thinks of nothing but housekeeping and appearances, and her daughters take after her to a certain extent. Miss Craig probably wants no nonsense because it is beyond her comprehension. Just keep being your own sweet and loving self, and I'm sure she'll come 'round._

_"And if you absolutely can't share your dreams with anyone else, you can always write to me with them. I always love to hear about your fancies—it'll distract me from my social problems here._

_"Take care of yourself, fawn. Christmas seems like an age away! Maybe I'll try to sneak home during my fall break—but I doubt it. It's a bit of a trip for just a few days. Write soon,_

_"Yours,_

_"Peter._

_"P.S. Per your request, I'm including a snapshot Bran took of me last year. It's awful, but it's the only one I have available at the moment."_

Meggie had to laugh at the picture: Peter was standing with his arms crossed defiantly, scowling at the camera. She had no idea of the circumstances behind it, but somehow it seemed perfectly indicative of the boys' relationship—Bran doing something Peter didn't want, and Peter getting dragged in against his will.

She was sorry that he was having such troubles with Blake, but touched by his confidence in her. School was becoming steadily more time-consuming, and harvest and preparations for winter took up most of her free time, but she still made an especial point of sitting and writing to him the first spare moment she had.

_"Dear Peter,_

_"Have things gotten easier with Blake? I feel for you. It must be so frustrating to not be able to make him understand how you really feel about things!_

_"Polly had a letter from Bran today; he's doing well at Queen's, though he was up before the dean a few days ago for a prank he pulled involving firecrackers underneath his English professor's desk, which went off at a crucial moment in a lecture. He wasn't very repentant—he told Polly he could barely keep from laughing even while he was being reprimanded. I know it's very wrong of him, but I can't help but laugh, either. Polly said she could just picture his face when the firecrackers went off—innocent and wondering, but with his eyes dancing with mischief. Apparently the professor asked Bran right away if he did it, and Bran confessed cheerfully. Auntie Di sighed and laughed and said at least he's honest!_

_"You said you wanted to hear some of my fancies, so here's something I thought of last night while washing dishes. You know how the kitchen window looks out toward the fields and woods? Well, as I watched out it, I was sure I saw several dryads creep out of their trees into the fields. The moon was silvery bright, and in its glow I saw them join hands in a ring and start to dance. Pretty soon the fauns came out to join them, half dancing, and half playing on their panpipes. Peter, I could _hear_ the music, wild and weird and lovely, and I couldn't resist. I left the dishes half washed, and flew out to join them. You'd think I would have been scared, but I wasn't. They weren't frightening at all—just strange and beautiful. I joined hands with a beech dryad on one side and a little red-furred faun on the other, and I danced with them for hours. As the moon started to set, the dance turned soft and slow, and the music became very low and dreamy, and I could hardly keep my eyes open. I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in my own bed with the sun pouring in through the window. I flew out first thing this morning to see if I could see little hoof-prints from the fauns, but there were none. I suppose they used their magic to erase them, so I would think it all a dream._

_"Oh Peter, it _is_ nice to be able to tell this to someone who doesn't think I'm crazy or a liar! You know that I made it all up, and I know that I made it all up, but we can both imagine it's real, and that's what makes it so fun."_

Meggie paused for a moment as a sudden twinge of pain attacked her left leg. She looked down to see if anything was poking it, but nothing was there. She frowned, puzzled. With a sense of nebulous unease, she returned to her letter.

_"I'm sorry this is so short, but I guess I'd better go. I hope things get better with Blake soon. Don't forget to write me whenever you need an outlet. What else are little cousins for?_

_"Love always,_

_"Meggie."_

Meggie folded up the letter and stood to find an envelope. Her leg throbbed again, and her sense of unease increased. The letter fluttered from her hand to the floor without her even noticing. Hardly thinking at all of what she was doing, she grabbed her sweater and ran out the door, heading for the fields. Something was pulling her there; she didn't know what, but a nameless fear lent her feet wings, until she nearly flew. She couldn't imagine what it was, but something, she knew, was dreadfully wrong.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Ooh, I'm mean! Leaving you with a cliff-hanger like this. And I'm about to be even more mean--if you don't review, something very bad is going to happen to someone Meggie loves! _


	11. Harvest Disaster

As Meggie raced breathlessly toward the fields, she met Gervase, Uncle Patrick's hired man, coming in her direction.

"Gervase!" she cried, her high voice carrying on the still air. "What has happened?"

Gervase was puffing like a steam engine, but managed to gasp out: "Matty—fell—leg," before rushing past her.

Meggie never hesitated for an instant; she flew onward, coming at last to the still form of her twin. For once heedless of the beauty of the goldening fields and clear blue autumn sky, she pushed blindly past her father and uncle and flung herself to her knees beside Matty.

"Matty," she gasped, fear gripping her heart at his still, white face and closed eyes. "Matty, say something!"

"Meggie," said Shirley's deep voice as his arms came down and encircled her. "What are you doing here, child?"

Meggie never took her eyes from Matty, only now vaguely noticing Uncle Patrick pressing a makeshift bandage onto Matty's leg, and the blood that stained it. "What happened?" she whispered.

Shirley's arms tightened around her. "Matty was on top of the wagon, packing down the straw with the pitchfork. He lost his balance, tumbled down along with the fork, and landed on the tines." Even Papa's strong voice trembled a little as he said those last words.

"Is he—going to be all right?" Meggie choked out.

"Of course he is," Uncle Patrick said gently, looking up and forcing a smile. "Gervase has gone for the doctor, and he'll patch Matty up in no time."

Meggie gulped down a few tears that _would_ threaten to spill. She couldn't cry now! She had to be strong for Matty. "Really?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Meggie," Uncle Patrick said seriously.

And somehow, Meggie knew it was true. She finally tore her eyes from Matty's still face and looked up at Shirley, noticing the strain around his mouth and the worry in his eyes. "Why is he so quiet?" she asked.

Shirley's mouth tightened as he answered. "He passed out from the pain." Seeing her eyes fill with tears again at the thought of her twin being in that much pain, he hastened to reassure her. "But don't worry, dearest. Uncle Patrick's right. Doc Martin will set him right again, you'll see. There's no need to fret."

Meggie nodded. She understood what Papa was telling her: _Be brave, don't break down, don't give in to nameless fears._ She knelt down by Matty and took one of his hands in both her own, holding it as closely as though she could pour her own strength into him that way. Papa knelt down behind her, his hand tightly on her shoulder, adding his support. They stayed like that until Uncle Patrick looked up with relief.

"Doc's coming."

The other two turned their heads to see Gervase sprinting toward them, followed by the short, plump figure of Avonlea's doctor. Doc Martin nodded briefly to the men, frowned at Meggie, and dropped down by Matty's leg, removing the blood-stained bandage so he could examine the damage.

Meggie felt sick to her stomach at the sight of all the blood, especially when combined with the odd angle her twin's leg was bent at, but she wouldn't let him down by giving in to cowardice, so although she was white to the lips, she continued to hold his hand and smooth his hair while the doctor examined him.

Finally, Doc Martin looked up. "Broken," he said shortly, his brusque manner a startling contrast to his gentle hands as they wrapped a clean bandage around the leg. "And gashed quite seriously in three places. We'll have to get him back to the house before I can set it."

"Will he be all right, Doc?" Shirley asked quietly.

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "Should be, provided the gashes don't get infected. Young limbs mend easily, so I'm not too worried about the bone. Not to worry, Blythe. Give him three weeks to a month, and he should be back on his feet, though he'll be limping for a while after that."

The lines of strain melted slowly from around Shirley's mouth, and he gently lifted his son onto the makeshift stretcher Uncle Patrick and Gervase had created out of their coats and a couple fence rails.

Meggie, relieved that Matty was going to get better, but still terribly upset over his pain, never once let go of his hand, not while they were lifting him onto the stretcher, and not while they were walking slowly and awkwardly back to the house.

He was starting to come 'round by the time they reached the yard, moaning a little and flailing his free arm, and by the time he was carried into the parlor and Doc pried his hand away from Meggie's and shooed her into the kitchen, saying it was no sight for women or children, her own hand was red from the fevered grip Matty had had on it.

Uncle Patrick ducked out of the parlor right after Meggie. He smiled comfortingly at her worried face.

"Don't you fret, little woman. Doc Martin may be old-fashioned in some of his ideas, but he's a top-notch doctor. Matty will be just fine, you'll see."

"I just wish I could be there with him," Meggie replied, chewing her lower lip nervously.

"They'll be done soon enough, and then you'll be able to spend every moment with him, if you want. You're going to be invaluable to him while he's mending, you know. You'll have to be his legs, take care of him. No sense in wearing yourself out with needless fussing now."

Meggie smiled at him, her first smile since seeing Matty's crumpled body in the fields. "Thank you, Uncle Patrick."

"You're welcome," he answered, his blue eyes crinkling up as he smiled back at her. "Now, you just wait here, and I'm going to run home and bring back your Auntie Di and Polly. I think your papa will be glad to have family around once everything's over."

Thinking this over, it sounded somewhat ominous to Meggie, but knowing that Uncle Patrick was right and she couldn't do anyone any good by fretting, she busied herself with putting the teakettle on and slicing some bread, in case anybody was going to want anything to eat later. She doubted it, but at least it gave her hands something to do and kept her from dwelling too much on Matty's white face, his deathly stillness, the blood covering his leg, and how scared for him she really was.

She was filling the teapot when Auntie Di came in the kitchen door at a run. The older woman skidded to a halt upon seeing her niece, and her arms came out to enfold the little girl in a warm, comforting hug.

Meggie had been holding herself together quite well up to that point, but nestled in Auntie Di's soothing arms, she couldn't help but let a few tears slip down her cheeks.

"He looked so pale," she sniffed. That wasn't at all what she wanted to say, but somehow Auntie Di, with all her wise mother-lore, understood the unspoken fears in that simple statement.

"I know," was all she said, holding Meggie a little tighter.

Just two words, but somehow they helped immeasurably. Meggie straightened up, wiped her eyes, and managed a watery smile for the worried-looking Polly.

"Oh Meggie," Polly whispered, sympathetic tears filling her own eyes. "Has it been very dreadful?"

"He's going to be fine," Meggie said firmly.

"Of course he is," said Uncle Patrick cheerfully, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Meggie-love, do I see tea? What a treasure of a niece you are. Would you pour your old uncle a cup?"

Meggie did so, glad to have a practical task. She poured tea for both Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick, and Polly helped her fix a pitcher of lemonade for the two of them—Auntie Di considering tea unhealthy for little girls.

The four of them sat around the kitchen table, making spasmodic conversation while each listening for any noises coming from the parlor. Eventually, all pretense failed, and they sat quietly, idly playing with their teacups or lemonade glasses while waiting for someone to emerge.

Finally, Shirley entered the kitchen, his face drawn and haggard, and looking about ten years older.

"Doc set the bone and cleaned and bandaged the gashes," he said hoarsely, dropping into a chair. "He gave him a sedative to help him sleep, so he's resting peacefully now."

Meggie yearned to run to her twin, but it was her Papa who needed her help right now, so instead she jumped up and poured him a cup of tea. Before she could give it to him, Uncle Patrick intercepted it and added a dollop of something from a pocket flask that smelled very strongly. He winked at Meggie and allowed her to give it to her father.

"Thank you, dear," Shirley murmured, stroking Meggie's hair with one hand as he took the cup in his other. At the first sip, color came back into his cheeks and he coughed.

"Doc wants him to keep completely off his feet for twenty-one days," he continued in a stronger voice, "and build back up to walking unaided very slowly. It'll be at least two months before he's back up to full strength." He looked at Uncle Patrick. "I don't know what we're going to do about harvest with Matty out of action until mid-November. I suppose I could hire another hand, but this late in the season, I don't know where I could find a reliable one …" his voice trailed off disconsolately, and he gulped some more tea.

"I'll help, Papa," Meggie offered at once. She had only done field work once before, two autumns ago during an especially hectic harvest. She hated it, but if Papa needed her, she wouldn't be a shirker. "I'll stay home from school—I know Miss Craig will understand."

"I'll help, too," volunteered Polly. This was an even greater sacrifice for her than for Meggie—with two older brothers, Polly had never been needed in the fields, and loathed getting dirty.

Shirley smiled. "What troopers! Thank you for your unselfish offers, darlings, but I think we'll manage without taking you away from your studies. Besides, if we put both of you in the fields, we'll have nobody left to take care of the preserving and canning—and we can't leave Matty unattended all day long. No, we'll think of something else."

"I have an idea," said Auntie Di slowly.

The rest looked at her. "Well?" Uncle Patrick said finally. "Do we get to hear it?"

Instead of answering, Auntie Di looked at the two girls. "Girls, I think I hear Matty stirring in the parlor. Would you go check on him?"

"But we want to hear your idea," Polly protested. "Besides, Uncle Shirley said Matty was given a sedative—he won't wake up for a while."

"Polly!" Uncle Patrick said sternly. "Don't talk back to your mother. Go into the parlor at once."

Forgetting her advanced years and great maturity, Polly pouted like any three-year-old, but rose and did as she was told. Meggie, eager to see her brother, was already at the door, and the two girls went into the parlor, where, sure enough, Matty was sound asleep on the sofa, his leg set and bound in a hard plaster shell.

"He looks better," Meggie breathed, her last fear laid to rest by seeing his peaceful face and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm glad," said Polly sincerely, "but I wish we could have stayed in the kitchen. What's so dreadful about Mum's idea that we can't hear it? I _wish_ they wouldn't _insist_ on treating me like a child!"

Meggie was too wrapped up in Matty to do more than smile at Polly's italics. She was slightly curious about Auntie Di's idea, but far more interested in watching the color creep up into Matty's face.

Polly grumbled a bit more, but when she saw that Meggie was holding Matty's hand, her eyes fixed hungrily on his face, completely ignoring her cousin, the older girl finally fell silent.

Shortly after that, Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick looked in, pronounced themselves relieved that Matty looked so well, and the three Samuels left the three Blythes alone at last.

"Well, daughter dear, this has been a rather eventful day, hasn't it?" Shirley asked Meggie wryly, sitting down beside her.

"I'm just glad Matty's going to be all right," Meggie said, a little quiver in her voice at the thought of what it would have been like if Matty _weren't_ going to be all right.

Shirley put his arm around her and squeezed. "So am I," a tremble even in his strong voice. He'd had his own fearsome possibilities to deal with when he saw his son—his and Cecily's son—fall off the wagon and lie on the ground so still and bloody. "Thank God," he added under his breath. He _couldn't_ have born losing Matty as well as Cecily … he simply couldn't have.

Meggie felt the shudder pass through Papa's body, but a moment later, he was himself again, smiling cheerily at her.

"How would you feel, little woman, to having company this fall and winter?"

"That would depend on the company," Meggie answered cautiously.

Shirley laughed. "That's my canny girl. Specifically, how would you feel about your cousin Johnny coming and staying with us for the next few months?"

"Johnny?" Meggie asked in surprise. He was the last person on her mind right now. "Why?"

"Your Auntie Nan mentioned to Auntie Di the other day that she thought a change of scene would do Johnny good. He's been … restless … at home lately. Auntie Nan was thinking about seeing if Grandmother and Grandfather wanted to keep him for a little bit, but as we are in desperate need of another field hand, I decided that—as long as my children agreed—I would phone Auntie Nan and see if she would let Johnny come to us."

Meggie suspected there was slightly more to the story than simply what Papa was telling her—otherwise why couldn't have Auntie Di said all that in front of her and Polly?—but she didn't trouble over it. "But Papa—he's a city boy. Wouldn't it be easier to hire someone who knows what he's doing?"

Shirley shrugged. "Easier, perhaps, but I'd rather have my nephew here than a stranger. Besides, I think it would do Johnny some good to stay with us. What do you say?"

Meggie reflected on it. Johnny was undoubtedly the least attractive of all her cousins—but he _had_ rescued her that awful night at Ingleside—and remembering the look in his eyes the day she and Uncle Bruce found him in the strawberries, the look of someone almost frantic for approval—she suddenly felt herself overwhelmed in a wave of pity. Yes, they _would_ do Johnny some good, she decided.

"I say yes," she said decidedly.

"There's the girl," Shirley said approvingly. "I knew you would."

Matty suddenly stirred—sighed—raised his free hand—moaned a little—and opened his brown eyes.

"Papa? Meggie?" he asked faintly. "What happened?"

The two set to work explaining the events of the day, relieved that they were all together and (mostly) in one piece to do so.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ I am very sorry about leaving you all hanging for so long with this chapter. My husband and I just found out a couple months ago that we are expecting our first child at the end of October. While we are thrilled, the shock of the discovery drove everything else out of my head for a while. Things are settling down now, (and morning sickness is mostly gone), so hopefully I will be around a bit more frequently, though I doubt I will be updating and reviewing with anything like the kind of regularity I had in the past. Take comfort though, it will only get worse once the baby is actually here!_


	12. School Woes

The phone call to Auntie Nan was duly made, and in a few days, Meggie was out on the Green Gables porch, watching anxiously for any sign of Shirley and Johnny riding back from the train station in the old pickup truck.

"Can you see them yet?" Matty called impatiently from the parlor.

"Not yet," Meggie called back.

She felt more than heard Matty's sigh. Reclining on the parlor sofa, a gaily patterned afghan covering his legs, after only four days inside Matty was going stir crazy. His schoolmates visited after school, Meggie and Polly were his devoted slaves, Auntie Di came over and read aloud to him by the hour when the girls were in school, but still he fretted over being trapped indoors. He wanted to be out helping his father and uncle bring in the harvest—he was sure things were breaking down all around the farm without him there to keep an eye on things—he thought of a million little things during the day that needed his own personal attention, which he was unable to give. The thought of being stuck there until sometime in November was practically unbearable to the usually active, healthy boy.

The thought of Johnny coming was another thorn in Matty's side. He had nothing against his cousin personally, but his arrival was simply another reminder that Matty himself was helpless. Johnny wasn't going to know how to do any of the things that Matty did so effortlessly, and then it wouldn't be as good of a harvest, and everything would go wrong, and it was all his, Matty's, fault for being clumsy enough to fall off a wagon—when he had been packing hay down like that for years!

Hidden away in the back of Matty's heart, secret from even Meggie, was an unspoken fear that Johnny _would_ be able to everything as well as he could, and that his status as Shirley's right-hand man would be seriously undermined.

Though Meggie wasn't aware of all the tumult going on in Matty's mind, she knew her twin well enough to see that his peevish behavior was caused by more than just frustration with being confined to the sofa—there were real concerns and fears tormenting him. So she bore patiently and graciously with his demands, gave up all her free time keeping him entertained, and let him grumble without rebuke.

The rattle of the old truck reached both the twins' ears all at once, and by straining her neck, Meggie could see the front of it as Shirley and Johnny started to come around the corner.

"They're coming!" she cried joyfully.

Matty sighed again—a sigh born of worry rather than impatience, this time.

Then the truck was pulling in, and Shirley and Johnny were disembarking, Shirley with his usual quiet, confident smile on his brown face, Johnny looking sulky and shy, his light brown hair falling down over his pale, rather pointed face, nearly covering his eyes completely.

"Here we are at last!" Shirley called, pulling Johnny's one small bag from the back of the truck. "The truck broke down _twice_ on the way home from the station. Between Johnny and I, we managed to get it going again, but I sure could have used my boy—he knows more about the inside of this lady than anyone else."

Matty, in the parlor, heard his father's voice clearly, and a warm glow spread over him. Of _course_ he was still going to be useful to Shirley, no matter what Johnny was like. What had he been worried about? Matty was Shirley's boy—a role no one else in the world could fill.

Meggie ran lightly down the porch steps to hug first her father, and then Johnny, who looked slightly taken aback at the proceeding.

"I'm so glad you're here, Johnny," she said warmly, smiling at her cousin. "Was it a dreadful trip? Did you make it all by yourself? I would be dreadfully afraid to travel all that way all alone."

Johnny shrugged. "One of Dad's colleagues was going as far as Charlottetown, so I only had to go a little ways alone."

"Still," Meggie said admiringly. "You must be very brave to change trains and all that by yourself."

It was possibly the first time in his life someone had called Johnny brave—or even paid him a compliment, for that matter. He peeked at Meggie from behind his curtain of hair and gave her his slow, shy smile.

Shirley, striding along behind the two of them, had a smile of his own. He had barely been able to get two words out of Johnny on the entire ride back—which was uncomfortably silent even for a man of Shirley's quiet temperament. He suspected, however, that a few weeks (possibly even a few days) in Meggie and Matty's wholesome, happy company would pull Johnny out of his shell and make a new boy of him. He hoped so, at any rate.

* * *

The first few days were awkward. Matty struggled with seeing Johnny fill his place—going off to school with Meggie and Polly in the mornings, heading out to the fields with Shirley and Uncle Patrick in the afternoon, doing all the things Matty himself used to do. It was only natural for Matty to resent this slightly, and even more natural for Johnny to feel this resentment and withdraw yet more behind his sullen barrier.

Meggie felt this strain between her cousin and twin and did her best to smooth things over, but didn't make much headway. When she and Johnny were at school together, they got along just fine. She could usually get him to talk a little, and smile some, and one day she even wrung a reluctant laugh out of him. And in the afternoons, when the men were in the fields and it was just she and Matty in the house, everything was fine with them. They talked, laughed, worked on schoolwork together, and were in every way fine.

In the evenings, however, problems arose. If Meggie and Johnny talked about something from school, Matty would glower at the two of them until they fell silent. If Meggie and Matty talked together, Johnny would retreat to the darkest corner of the parlor and sulk. Worst of all was if Johnny and Shirley would discuss something related to the farm. Matty's frustration at being out of things was so acute that he was torn between listening eagerly and wanting to scream at not being able to actively participate—which combination did not lend itself to pleasant conversation.

Shirley, of course, noticed the tension between the young fry, but did nothing about it. He reasoned that they would work it out in time themselves, and it would be so much the better for them all if they did it without his interference.

Meggie and Polly talked over the difficulties with the boys, and eventually came to the same conclusion—that they needed to work it out themselves.

"After all," said Polly. "It's really none of our business. And Mum always says that interfering in other folks' business causes more problems than it fixes, nine times out of ten."

"Besides," sighed Meggie. "What _can_ we do? I've already tried everything I can think of to make them get along, and nothing works."

"So we'll leave them to themselves, then," said Polly, dismissing the whole problem neatly from her mind. Polly had problems of her own to deal with, just then. Miss Craig's animosity toward her was becoming more and more pronounced, and poor Polly, who had never had anyone dislike her for _any_ reason, much less no reason at all, was quite distressed up over it. She wouldn't complain to her parents, but kept on faithfully trying to do just what her teacher asked, no matter how rudely or cruelly Miss Craig behaved.

Meggie was really quite unhappy over the situation between her brother and cousin. She couldn't help but feel that Matty was in the wrong here, though it seemed terribly disloyal even to think that about her own beloved twin. Still, it wasn't Johnny's fault that Matty was confined to a sofa, and for Matty to take all his frustrations out on Johnny just didn't seem fair. Meggie wished she could write to Peter about it, asking for his advice, but she couldn't do that without feeling like she was betraying her twin, so she struggled on alone.

* * *

She wished she could tell Peter about Polly's problems, too, but Polly had begged her to say nothing to _anyone_ in the family about Miss Craig's unreasonable attitude, and Meggie had reluctantly agreed. She admired Polly for trying to handle it all on her own, but she really did think it would be best to ask _someone_ for help.

That Friday morning saw the three fit young fry off to school, while Matty sat inside and wrestled with his conscience—a battle as fierce as any fought by his father and uncles in the War.

Meggie sighed with delight as they passed Willowmere and entered the Birch Path. The birches that had been young, slender trees in Anne Shirley's day were old and gnarled now, but it was still as magical and delightful as it had been when it was young. _Then_ half its charm came from its promise of tomorrow; _now_ it held all the mysteries and dreams of the past.

"I do so love this walk," she said dreamily.

"So do I," said Polly. "Whenever I come down it, anything seems possible—that I might become a famous actress, that I'll be able to solve that impossibly hard math question Miss Craig set for us yesterday … anything!"

Meggie's bell-like ripple of laughter combined with Polly's throaty gurgle, harmonizing into the very best sort of music. Even Johnny managed to smile.

"It is pretty, I suppose," he conceded.

"Just pretty?" Meggie cried. She shook her head sorrowfully. "Oh, Johnny."

Her cousin shrugged his shoulders defensively. "Blythe says only sissies get excited over nature and such—real men pay attention to real things."

"What nonsense!" Polly said scornfully. "What's that even supposed to mean? Why, Peter loves this trail as much as we do, and you certainly can't call _him_ a sissy."

Johnny prudently held his tongue. As a matter of fact, his older brother's opinion of Peter was less than flattering, but he correctly thought that mentioning that would be a bad idea.

Meggie's brow was wrinkled in thought. "Appreciating beauty in God's creation can't be something reserved for girls alone," she said slowly, thinking out one of those "odd" thoughts that made Avonlea folk wonder about her. "Papa and Uncle Bruce both say that if you can't find God anywhere else, you can find Him in His creation. And I think … I know that whenever anything is troubling me, I can find comfort outside in nature." She shook her curly head, coming out of her reverie with a laugh. "At any rate, here we are at the road."

They let the matter drop, and up the spruce hill to the old schoolhouse where so many generations had learned and grown.

Miss Craig was even more unbearable than usual that day. She sneered mercilessly at Polly's attempt to solve the dreaded math problem on the board, nearly reducing even that stalwart soul to tears. Meggie's cheeks flushed and tears sprang to her own eyes at the sight of her cousin's distress. Johnny, looking at both girls, clenched his fists and scowled blackly.

Meggie's concern for Polly wreaked havoc with her normally impeccable history lesson (Meggie loved history both for its own sake and because of Peter), and Miss Craig dismissed her work with a sharp, cruel laugh that cut right down to the core of the little girl's sensitive soul.

Miss Craig had summed Johnny up the first day of classes as a stupid, sullen boy, and summarily expected no more of him, so he alone out of the Blythe clan escaped the day without reprimand.

Meggie was relieved when school was over, but the trials of the day were not yet ended. A group of little girls around Polly's age, made up mostly of Sloanes and Pyes, surrounded the two of them as they exited the building into the schoolyard.

"Not feeling so stuck-up now, are you, Miss Perfect Polly?" sneered Joan Pye, the very image of her great-aunt Josie. Joan had always been jealous of Polly's big house and pretty dresses, and was now obviously exulting in the chance to cut her down.

"Leave us alone," Meggie spoke up bravely, seeing that Polly was too upset to answer. "Polly's _not_ stuck-up."

Joan ignored her, eyes glittering maliciously as she leaned her face in closer to Polly's. "I bet you don't even know why Miss Craig don't like you, do you? You're so stupid, you probably don't even know!"

"Go away," Polly said, her voice trembling. "I won't listen to you."

The circle of girls sniggered cruelly. "I know why," said May Sloane. "My Ma told me. It's because your pa was supposed to marry Miss Craig's sister, but then he up and married your ma instead, and the Craigs ain't ever forgiven him."

"My!" said Joan loudly. "I'd be ashamed to hold my head up in public if my pa had ever jilted a reverend's daughter. Only a scoundrel would do something like that."

"You stop!" Polly cried, her eyes flashing dangerously, all fear gone. "You stop right there! Don't you dare say a word about my father. You can say what you like about me, but I won't have you saying a word against anyone in my family. You are all rude, evil, malicious girls, and I never want to see any of you ever again!"

Her tormenters fell back slightly, surprised and a little scared by this outburst. At that moment, Miss Craig appeared in the doorway.

"Causing trouble, Meggie, Polly?" she inquired blandly. "I'm afraid I'll have to keep you after school every day next week as a punishment. We can't have disruptions going on in the schoolyard, you know."

As if in response to her words, yells and shouts suddenly broke forth from the other end of the yard. Everyone looked at each other in shock for a moment before simultaneously breaking into a run to see what was happening.

Meggie and Polly reached the crowd just in time to see two of the bigger boys pull Johnny off Jack Sloane, May's older brother. Despite the four-year age gap between the boys, and Jack's obvious weight and height advantage, he was the one prone on the ground, blood streaming from his nose and lip, one eye already closing up.

"Jack!" shrieked May, completely losing her head and collapsing in a faint on the ground.

Nobody paid her any attention; their attention was all on the struggling, snarling boy writhing in his captors' grasp.

"Let me at him," Johnny muttered savagely. "Let me at him. I'll kill him. Let me go, I tell you!" His nose was bleeding as well, but he didn't even seem to notice it, his normally pale eyes alight with a wild fire as he fought to get back at his opponent.

"Goodness!" exclaimed Miss Craig, her hand to her heart. "What atrocious behavior. Jacob, Michael, see if you can't bring him under control."

"We're trying, Miss Craig, but it's like trying to hold a wild beast," said Michael, tightening his grip on Johnny.

Meggie slipped through the crowd without thinking. She ran up to Johnny and grabbed his hands, covered in Jack's blood.

"Johnny, Johnny!" she cried, frightened by the dangerous look in his eyes. "Come back—come back!"

His glazed eyes focused on her white face, and slowly his breathing returned to normal and he calmed down. Polly ran to join the two of them, slipping Johnny her hanky to stem his bloody nose, as Miss Craig strode in front of them, her black eyes snapping.

"Never, in all my days, have I seen such behavior," she said impressively. "The three of you are suspended from school until further notice—and you may be sure I will be calling on your parents to report this disgraceful behavior."

"Miss Craig—don't blame the girls," protested Johnny. "They didn't have anything to do with this—it was all my fault."

"I am teacher in this school, I decide who it to blame and who isn't," said Miss Craig. "Now get off this property!"

Holding tightly to Johnny's hands, who still seemed inclined to argue, the girls led him away quietly. A scream echoed behind them as Joan discovered May's body prone on the ground leading to yet more chaos in the yard.

Nobody said a word until the three reached the brook running through Lover's Lane, when Johnny knelt down to wash himself off as best he could.

"She shouldn't have suspended you girls," he said suddenly. "It's not right. I didn't mean to get you in trouble." He looked up at them with a half-defiant, half-shamed expression.

"It's not your fault," sighed Meggie, sitting down beside him and using her handkerchief to help clean away from of the blood.

"No," agreed Polly, joining them. "She was already mad at us for fighting with the girls. I don't care!" she flashed out suddenly. "I hate that old school! I wouldn't go back even if they asked us to—not after what those girls said about Dad."

"I don't want to go back, either," Meggie said slowly. "I just hate to tell Papa that I was—suspended." She shivered a little over that dreadful word.

"Johnny," Polly asked, taking their attention away from their awful fate, "What were fighting Jack Sloane over?"

Johnny shrugged. "Nothing."

Both girls looked at him skeptically. He flushed. "Look, he—said something. Something foul. So I told him to shut his mouth or I'd smash his face in. He laughed at me, so I hit him."

Meggie still didn't quite understand, but Polly, with two years more experience and maturity, knew exactly what Johnny was saying. "He said something about one of us?"

"Both of you," Johnny said, finally meeting her eyes squarely.

Light finally dawned. "You were defending us?" Meggie said.

"Nobody talks like that about my family," Johnny answered.

A warm glow spread through Meggie. He was defending _her_! Never had anyone done such a splendid thing before. Of course, there had never been a need before now, but it didn't take away from the nobility of such an act. She leaned forward and hugged Johnny.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Polly hugged him as well. "Me too."

Johnny shrugged them off. "Come on," he said roughly. "We'd better go explain to Uncle Shirley and Uncle Patrick what happened before Miss Craig gets there before us."

"Papa will understand," Meggie said, feeling quite a bit more confident now.

"So will Mum and Dad," said Polly. A shadow of worry clouded her green eyes. "I hope."

"Doesn't matter to me, as long as nobody blames you two," said Johnny. "It's not like this is the first time I've been suspended." As the girls looked at him in surprise, he smiled crookedly. "Didn't you know? That's the reason I got sent here in the first place. I was suspended from our private school in Ottawa for fighting. Some boy made a crack about Dad—his father was part of the opposing party—so I took a swing at him. Nobody there would listen to my reasons, either, so I got suspended, and Mum and Dad decided I would be better off someplace where I wouldn't get in so much trouble." His smile turned sour. "So much for that."

Meggie squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, Johnny. Papa will make everything all right."

And though Johnny smiled somewhat scornfully at her simple faith, even he couldn't help but feel that, just possibly, Uncle Shirley would do so.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ this chapter actually took a turn that surprised even me, but it was the way the story wanted to go, so what's an author to do but follow along? The next chapter shouldn't be too long in coming, in which hopefully we'll see some resolution! As always, reviews make me very, very happy, and a happy author is a productive author!_


	13. Injustice Corrected

Matty took one look at the disheveled group that walked in Green Gables' front door and let out a long, slow whistle.

"What happened to you three?"

Meggie glanced down. Her blue checked dress was smeared with mud and blood from helping clean Johnny up. Polly was in as bad of shape as she was, and as for Johnny … well the less said about Johnny's appearance, the better.

"We were suspended from school for fighting," Polly told him bluntly.

"What?" The outraged cry came from the kitchen. The three turned guiltily to face Auntie Di, her hands on her hips, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes snapping.

Johnny spoke up at once, stepping in front of the girls. "It was my fault, Auntie. I was the only one fighting, but Miss Craig suspended the girls, too. They didn't do anything, really. It was all me."

Auntie Di's grim expression softened somewhat, but she still spoke sharply. "And why would she do that?"

Polly and Meggie exchanged unhappy glances. The only answer to Miss Craig's injustice lay in May Sloane's malicious story about Uncle Patrick, something neither of them could bring themselves to repeat at the moment.

"She—she doesn't like any of us," Meggie finally offered timidly. "She was already mad at Polly and me for causing trouble."

"Which we didn't do!" Polly broke in indignantly. "It was those awful girls, they just cornered us and started picking on us, and when we tried to answer back, Miss Craig came out and told us we had to stay after school for a week, and then we heard the fight, and it was Johnny and Jack Sloane, and it _wasn't_ Johnny's fault, Mummy, Jack said something awful about Meggie and me, and so Johnny had to hit him, it was for family honor." She paused to take a breath.

Auntie Di definitely looked less stern now—in fact, Meggie almost thought she saw a twinkle in her eye. "Well, it's plain there is more to this story than meets the eye. Come on, you three, let's get you cleaned up and hear the whole story before the men come in from the fields." She shepherded the girls toward the stairs, but Johnny resisted.

"I'm supposed to go help in the fields."

Auntie Di fixed him with a sharp eye. "Not today, young man. You're not going anywhere until I get to the bottom of this."

Johnny looked down and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the hardwood floor. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

It took some time, but Auntie Di finally got a clear tale from the culprits. At the end, her eyes were snapping again, but this time her anger was not directed at the children.

"If Maud Craig has a bone to pick with Patrick and me, she had better direct it at us, not at out daughter," Meggie heard her mutter emphatically as she marched downstairs, arms akimbo. "The thought of suspending the children when they've done nothing wrong—I never did think much of her as a teacher, and now I'm sure she's not fit for the job. Ooh, just wait until I talk to the school board. She should know better than to pick a fight with the Blythes."

Meggie sighed in relief. It seemed they weren't going to be in trouble after all—though she was still a bit worried at what Papa would say.

Coming into the parlor, she was startled to see Johnny seated on the edge of Matty's sofa, hands flying as he tried to describe just how far exactly Jack went flying when he hit him. Both boys were grinning, and Matty's eyes were glowing in satisfaction.

"Wish I could have been there," he sighed, leaning back on his pillows. "I'm not much for fighting—never really saw the point in it—but I sure would have liked to get a blow in for the family. Not that you needed help," he added.

Johnny laughed triumphantly. "I think Jack Sloane will think twice before saying anything about _our_ girls again."

Meggie shook her head. Who would have thought it would take a schoolyard fight to bring Matty and Johnny together? She would never understand boys, she decided.

Shirley and Patrick came in the kitchen door, tired, hungry, and a little annoyed at not having seen Johnny all day. One look at Di's tight-lipped face, however, and they knew something was amiss.

"What's up, Di?" Shirley asked quietly.

All the children were in the parlor now, and they shivered a little, waiting for the response.

"You two get washed up, and I'll tell you," Auntie Di replied. Then they heard her add under her breath, "Gross injustice, that's what!"

The two men washed quickly, and they all gathered in the parlor, where Shirley gathered Meggie close to him and rested his hand on Matty's smooth head. Auntie Di drew in a deep breath.

"Now children," she began, "I don't want you to say a thing. I'm going to tell what happened today, and I want no interruptions!" Without giving them a chance to reply, she told the men the events of the day in short, sharp, concise terms. Uncle Patrick's kind face grew grimmer and grimmer as the tale went on, and Shirley arm tightened instinctively around Meggie. When Auntie Di finished, nobody said anything for a moment. Then:

"Well," said Shirley quietly. "I certainly think this calls for a visit to the rest of the board. In the meantime, it won't harm the children to do their schooling here at home."

Uncle Patrick got up and walked around the room agitatedly. His limp, hardly noticeable under normal circumstances, stood out drastically. "I heard that Elizabeth's marriage wasn't happy," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But I never thought the family would blame me for it. After all, she's the one who …" he limped back to his chair and sat down, his eyes troubled.

Polly walked over to him. She hadn't been able to say anything about the girls' insinuations about her father, but Meggie had told Auntie Di the entire story, and Auntie Di had repeated it—in much more polite terms. Polly laid a timid hand on her father's arm.

"Daddy," she said, using the pet name she hadn't called him in years, "I don't believe anything those girls said. I know you couldn't ever do anything bad to anyone."

"Thank you, pet," Uncle Patrick said, hugging her. "I do think, however, that you children ought to hear the whole story, just so you understand. Several years ago, Miss Craig's older sister and I were engaged to be married. Neither of us really loved the other, and eventually she ended the engagement to go marry a man from Winnipeg. I wasn't upset, because that meant that I could marry Di." Here he smiled lovingly at his wife, who blew him a kiss from her fingertips. "We parted on good terms, and we've stayed friendly over the years. Her family seemed to understand, and I've certainly never had any coldness from Rev. or Mrs. Craig. However, I did hear lately that Elizabeth—that is, my former fiancée—was having some difficulties, and it would appear that Miss Craig has decided that I am to blame for them, and is taking it out on you children—especially you, my Polly."

"But that doesn't make any sense," said practical Matty. "How can you be to blame for something that she did?"

"People are rarely logical when they are upset, son," said Shirley.

Matty shook his head.

"It does seem rather a tempest in a teapot, but if Miss Craig has carried it this far, something must be done," said Uncle Patrick. He sighed. "I hate taking it to the school board, but if she has let her emotions cloud her judgment to this extent, something obviously must be done. She can't be allowed to carry out personal grudges against children."

"She said she was going to come speak to you tonight," Meggie chimed in. "Maybe you can talk to her and get everything worked out."

"I'll have a few things to say to her, that's for sure," snapped Auntie Di.

"Now Di," pleaded Uncle Patrick. "Remember your red hair."

"Am I likely to forget it? She'll be lucky if I don't break a slate over her head!"

At that reminder of the familiar tale of Grandmother and Granddad, and their school troubles, the tension in the room broke, and everyone laughed.

As if on cure, an impatient knock sounded at the front door. Meggie and Polly stiffened, and a fire lit Johnny's pale eyes.

"I'll get it," Auntie Di said grimly. She moved imposingly toward the door. Shirley dropped a quick kiss on Meggie's head.

"Don't worry, kitten," he whispered. "You've done nothing wrong, and you've nothing to fear."

At that reassurance, she relaxed somewhat, but she still couldn't stop the shiver that went through her at the sight of Miss Craig sweeping into the room, Auntie Di a stiff figure behind her.

"Ah, good, you're all here," Miss Craig said with no preliminary greetings. "Now I can get this over with at once."

Shirley rose to his feet. "Miss Craig, welcome to my house," he said politely, yet with a hint of steel underneath his soft tone. "Won't you take a seat?"

"No thank you, Mr. Blythe," Miss Craig answered curtly. "I prefer to spend as little time here as possible."

"As you like." Shirley settled himself back down comfortably, snuggling Meggie back to his side.

"I'm sure the children have come whining to you about how unfair I was today," Miss Craig said. "However, I am sure that once you hear the true story, you will have no choice but to agree with me that suspension was the only option, however distasteful it might be to you to imagine your children can do anything wrong."

"The truth?" Uncle Patrick inquired amiably. "Are you suggesting our children are liars?"

Up to this point, Miss Craig had avoided looking at Uncle Patrick. Now her black eyes met his blue ones, and she flushed. "I merely meant that children often have an exaggerated opinion of their own innocence. However, I cannot allow brawling in the schoolyard, bickering among the children, unbridled displays of temper, and complete disregard to my instructions of how school projects are to be conducted." This last was said with a fierce glare at Meggie, who shrank back. She had _tried_ to keep her work free of "nonsense," but apparently it hadn't been enough.

"Mr. Blythe," Miss Craig continued. "You were a school teacher once. Surely you agree with me that such things cannot go on?"

"Indeed, they are serious charges," Shirley answered, still in his calm voice. "However, I never had to go to the extreme of suspending children from school to curb such behavior. I found that speaking logically to the children and explaining to them the reasons behind the rules almost always sufficed—and if that didn't work, keeping them in after school or taking away their privileges did the trick."

"Perhaps," Auntie Di said dangerously from behind Miss Craig, "You are not capable of handling these little problems. Maybe you ought to think of resigning."

Miss Craig spun to face Auntie Di, her skirts flaring as she moved. "I am perfectly capable of managing a classroom!" she snapped. "If you would exercise some discipline at home, it wouldn't all be left to me to try to curb the dangerous tendencies your children are exhibiting. I can tell you right now that this boy," pointing to Johnny, "is already a danger to society, and if he is not controlled now, there is no telling what will happen to him when he grows up! As for the rest—"

"That is enough!" Shirley was on his feet, all hint of warmth gone from his voice. His face had hardened into sharp lines and angles, and his brown eyes were steely. Meggie shivered. She had never seen her papa like this.

"You will not come into my house and say such things about my family," he continued. "The children have told us what happened today, and each was more than willing to take more than their fair share of the blame. Indeed, Miss Craig, I find that they have been bearing up under your cruelty and injustice for weeks without saying one word about it here at home. Whatever wrong they have done—and I can find nothing in their behavior to warrant such a punishment, no, not even Johnny, who was merely protecting his family—is far outweighed by your treatment of them. Perhaps you have forgotten, Miss Craig, that I am a member of the school board?"

She flinched.

"In that capacity, I will be meeting with the rest of the board and discussing your behavior. At the very least, I will recommend that a member of the board come to the classroom at random times throughout the week to insure you are treating the children fairly. However, given the violent temper you have displayed here tonight, I will seriously consider recommending your dismissal altogether."

"Mr. Blythe," Miss Craig gasped out, her face pale, "Perhaps I overreacted …"

Shirley held up his hand. "I hadn't finished, Miss Craig," he stated. "In addition to my discussions with the rest of the board, our children—Johnny, Polly, Matty, and Meggie—will be kept at home as long as you are still teaching. I will _not_ expose them to your malice any longer, and can only regret that they were forced to endure as much of it as they did. Now, Miss Craig, I believe everything has been said that needs saying, so I bid you goodnight."

Miss Craig opened her mouth once or twice, glanced around as if hoping to find a friendly face, saw none, and turned and left, Auntie Di showing her out with the same grim politeness she had used when showing her in.

"Whew!" whistled Uncle Patrick. "You don't speak often, my brother, but when you do, it is to good effect!"

Shirley shrugged, and his face relaxed into its usual open lines. "Shall we have supper?" he asked dismissively. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry."

* * *

Nothing more was said about Miss Craig or the Avonlea school after that evening. Auntie Di came to Green Gables each day and taught the four children their lessons, and Shirley's meeting with the rest of the board came and went without incident. He mentioned casually at supper that night that a member of the board would be dropping by the school for surprise visits throughout the week for the next several months, and if things didn't improve, they would start looking for a new teacher after the New Year.

Rev. and Mrs. Craig came to tea at Tanglewood one afternoon, Polly reported, and though she hadn't been there for the entire time, they all seemed to part on good terms. Certainly Rev. Craig greeted them after church each Sunday with his usual cheerful smile and kind words, and Mrs. Craig even offered Meggie her recipe for cherry tarts, up to that point a closely guarded secret.

So life went on its smooth way, with barely anything to recall that unpleasant incident but the fact that the entire Sloane family suddenly refused to speak with them ("No great loss," Auntie Di commented dryly), and a sore spot in Meggie's heart. It had been her first glimpse at prejudice and injustice, and it hurt a little to have that veil of innocence torn a little. For the first time, she wondered if the world really _was_ such a splendid place after all.

In time, even that passed, but there was an older look in her eyes ever after that caused her father to sigh and mourn the loss of his daughter's innocence.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I know these last two chapters weren't exactly cheerful, but things can't always be happy and easy. I mourn Meggie's innocence as greatly as Shirley does, but these things have to happen in order for people to grow. I promise, the next few chapters will be much happier: Christmas is coming soon! As always, please review--if I don't know what you like and dislike, I have no idea how to improve._


	14. Christmas Celebrations

Harvest was brought in safely, and soon October and November passed along their windy, cold, dreary way. Rain lashed the bare trees at least three times a week, churning the hard ground into icy mud. Meggie, waking up shivering in the chill mornings, couldn't help but be thankful she didn't have to make the trek into school each day; it was much cozier to sit at the kitchen table with her brother and cousins while Auntie Di made them hot chocolate and fixed thick slices of homemade toast with cinnamon sugar as they studied.

Matty alone didn't seem at all troubled by the weather. His leg grew better by the day, and as he graduated from sofa to chair to crutches, he was thrilled. The day he proudly limped upstairs to his own bedroom for the first time in five weeks, unaided by anything or anyone, was likely the best day of his life.

The hay fork had left three scars in his leg that he would bear until the day he died, but he didn't mind at all. "Lot's of people have scars," he said. "Uncle Ken, Uncle Carl—Uncle Jerry showed me the scar across his back one day. My scars are nothing compared to theirs."

"What about the limp, though?" Polly asked. "You know Grandmother said her ankle still gets tired to this day, and she broke it when she wasn't much older than you."

Matty grinned. "Uncle Patrick and Uncle Jack both limp, and it doesn't seem to bother them at all. I'm just glad I can walk again, limp or no limp."

"Amen," said Shirley heartily, coming in just then.

With the harvest in, the lives of the two households changed slightly. Shirley started flying to Montreal once a month again, sometimes staying for a week at a time, trying to make up all the work he had missed while tending the farm. Uncle Patrick, to the dismay of the Avonlea youth, began music lessons again. This season, he decided Meggie needed a break from the piano, and started her with some basic vocal training, thrilling her down to her fingertips. Standing in the round music room, which somehow managed to catch whatever little bit of sunshine there was each day, with Uncle Patrick gently caressing music out of the piano like only he could, Meggie sang like a lark in springtime.

"Someday, my girl," Uncle Patrick said at the end of one lesson, "We're going to have to get you some proper training—beyond what I can give."

"Maybe," Meggie conceded. "But right now I like things just the way they are."

He winked at her conspiratorially. "So do I."

The young folk had wondered if Johnny was going to go back to Ottawa once the crops were in, but Shirley placed a phone call to Auntie Nan, and though none of them ever heard what transpired, the result of it was that Johnny was to stay at Green Gables until after the New Year.

"I'm glad," Johnny confessed to Meggie in a private moment. "I miss Mum and Dad—and Blythe and Dee—but I never really feel like I belong back home. Nobody worries or nags me here—I can be as quiet as I want without someone thinking I'm sulking—you all just _accept_ me. I'm not ready to leave yet."

Meggie couldn't understand what it was like not to feel as though you belonged in your own home, with your own family, but she was glad Johnny was staying. He was as much a part of _their_ family now as any of their boys. He and Matty, after their initial awkwardness, were especially close. Both of quiet temperaments, they could spend hours working on a project without ever saying more than five words to each other. They discovered a shared passion for models, and often Shirley would come in the kitchen to start dinner, only to find his table covered over with bits of balsa wood, glue, and instructions. He was glad they had so much in common, though, and only laughed and worked around their mess.

* * *

December came in with yet more rain, causing many to predict a gloomy Christmas. To Meggie, however, the month seemed to pass in days of crimson and gold and amber, because every day was one step closer to Peter's return from Redmond.

The letters had flown so thickly between them that term that Shirley jokingly complained that Meggie was going to bankrupt him in stamps. Peter's trials at school hadn't gotten any easier; in fact, Blake had actually convinced him to go on a double date with him and his "girl" and her cousin. Peter had written about the whole mess to Meggie—starting from when he and Blake went to pick up the girls and he had seen to his horror that Nora was one of those "modern girls," with a sleek cap of black hair, unnaturally red lips and nails, dead white skin, blackened lashes and eyebrows, and a dress with practically no back. Peter, who was tongue-tied even around the simple Island girls, was helpless before this sophisticate, and the date went downhill from there, ending with her storming out on him in the middle of the restaurant because he refused to order her a cocktail, while Blake watched in kinks of helpless laughter.

After that, Peter swore he'd never go on another date in his life, not even if it meant he'd die an old bachelor. The only good thing that came out of that evening, he told Meggie, was that Blake finally agreed with him that he wasn't cut out for society, and stopped badgering him to "get out more."

Even without Blake's prodding, however, Peter was still struggling to make friends and find his _niche_ at Redmond. He was looking forward to this Christmas vacation with an unparalleled fervor, telling Meggie that he'd been dreaming about Avonlea every night for a month.

As usual every year, there was discussion about whether the Avonlea folk should travel to Glen St. Mary for Christmas, or if the Ingleside folk should come there, but also as usual, they all decided it was easier just to spend the holiday at their own homes. Polly was disappointed—she and Lily were hoping to have the day together—but Meggie was secretly glad. As much as she loved Grandmother and Granddad, and Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem, Christmas just wouldn't seem right if they didn't have it right there at Green Gables, the way they always had.

Secrets grew as the days passed, filling the air with almost as tangible a sense as the scent of Auntie Di's plum pudding and Christmas cake, made from an old English recipe given to her by Lady Leah Wright and kept a dead secret from every other housewife in Avonlea. Every afternoon when Meggie went over to Tanglewood for her music lessons, she sniffed delightedly, the end of her nose quivering all over, "just like a rabbit," Uncle Patrick teased her.

Meggie and Uncle Patrick were working on Christmas carols now, and at any time of the day or night one could hear Meggie's voice echoing throughout the house and fields as she practiced "Silent Night" in German, "The First Noel" in French, and her favorite, "The Coventry Carol," in English. The high, unearthly melody of the song was perfectly suited to her sweet, childish voice, and Uncle Patrick, as he played for her, thought he'd never heard anything so lovely as that pure, "Lullay, Lullay, Thou little tiny child ..."

* * *

"Will it ever stop raining?" Polly sighed glumly, peering out her bedroom window at the rain-lashed trees and sodden ground. She and Meggie were spending the afternoon together, wrapping presents in the privacy of Polly's room.

"Don't think rain … think Christmas," Meggie suggested, frowning a little as she struggled with a recalcitrant bow.

"How can I?" complained Polly, turning away from the window and scowling at the pile of unwrapped gifts on her bed. "It doesn't even feel like Christmas with no snow. Mum and Dad want to put up all the Christmas decorations tonight, so the boys can come home to a 'house of Christmas cheer,' as Mum put it, tomorrow, but I can't even get into the mood."

Meggie gave up on the stubborn bow and her attempt to cheer Polly up at the same time, and got up to give her cousin a hug. "I know," she said sympathetically. "Matty and I took Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson a Christmas basket yesterday, and she said the same thing—it just didn't feel like Christmas. She said in all her years, she's only seen a handful of Christmases without snow, and all of them foretold a dreadful new year." Meggie smiled whimsically. "Papa said that's just superstition, though."

"Superstition or not, it …" Polly trailed off, peering back out the window. "Why, Meggie, who is that coming up the walk?"

Meggie tried vainly to focus out the water-smeared glass, but could only make out two vague figures, fighting their way up the winding drive against wind and rain. "I don't know," she said. "Were you expecting anyone today?"

Polly shook her bronze head. "No, the boys are coming tomorrow, but …" Her face lit up as the wind blew the cap off one of the approaching people's head, revealing golden hair that shone even through the clouds and raindrops. "It's them!" she shrieked. "It's Peter and Bran!"

The two girls clutched each other in an impulsive hug of thrilled delight, then flew through the door and down the stairs, making so much noise they drew Auntie Di from her sewing room and Uncle Patrick from his study.

"Girls, what is it?" called Auntie Di after them in a vain attempt to slow them down. "Is the house on fire?"

They couldn't stop to answer her, but as they wrenched the front door open and darted out into the pouring rain, she heard their cries of "Peter!" and "Bran!"

Her own face lighting up like a girl's, Auntie Di forgot her sewing, her years, and her dignity, and tore down the stairs and after them like a child herself, running out into the rain to hug her own dear sons herself.

Uncle Patrick, watching them fondly, shook his head and went to find some towels.

"But what are you doing here?" Auntie Di asked the boys lovingly a few moments later as, all wrapped in Uncle Patrick's towels, they sat around the kitchen drinking hot chocolate. "Don't tell me you walked all the way from Carmody in this weather?"

Bran shook his head, his tousled dark hair sending droplets of water everywhere. "It was only sprinkling when we set out from Carmody. The real storm didn't pick up until we were about three miles from here, but wow! We didn't think we'd ever make it those last three miles, did we, Peter?"

Peter wrapped both hands around his mug. "It wasn't so bad," he said quietly, his face glowing with an inner satisfaction at being home at last. "The thought of seeing the surprise on you folks' faces was enough to sustain us, even if it _had_ stormed the entire way from Carmody."

"But how did you get here?" demanded Polly. "You weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow!"

Bran grinned, his white teeth flashing in his dusky face. "Peter showed up at my boarding house at dawn this morning … he'd gotten tired of Redmond and left early. My finals were done, so rather than wait around, we packed up and left. Our bags are still at the station in Carmody, but the station master said we could call for them tomorrow." He winked at Auntie Di. "Are you sorry we came home early, Mum?"

Auntie Di laughed at him. "You know the answer to that, dear boy. It's like Christmas has come already, having the two of you back. Oh dear," she said, her face shadowing over. "But we were going to have the house all decorated for you, and now you're already here."

"Don't fret, Mum," Peter said. "It'll be more fun for us to help in the decorating, make it seem more like Christmas all the way around."

"Besides," added Bran, grinning outrageously at Uncle Patrick, "how can you expect to put anything up in the high spots without Peter?"

Uncle Patrick, whose short stature had never bothered him in the slightest, winked at his audacious son. "We certainly couldn't rely on you for that."

Bran, who only topped Uncle Patrick by an inch or so, acknowledged the hit with a hearty laugh of his own, and subsided.

"Well then," Auntie Di said decisively, "We'll make a family event of it. Meggie, dear, will you call your father and ask him, Matty and Johnny to come join us for supper and decorating tonight? Having our boys back early is certainly something worth celebrating with all of us."

Meggie, delighted at the thought of helping turn Tanglewood into a Christmas fairytale, eagerly rushed to the phone.

"As for the rest of us," Auntie Di said, looking ruefully at her now-sodden dress, "since Patrick was the only one with sense enough to not go rushing out into the wet, I suggest we change before we add another surprise to our Christmas—influenza. Polly, once Meggie's off the phone, find her an old dress of yours to wear. Something of yours from last year ought to be about the right size for her now."

"Don't worry, Mum, I have just the dress," smiled Polly.

Meggie turned from the phone. "Papa says they'll be here shortly."

"Wonderful!" Auntie Di beamed.

As the two girls climbed the stairs to Polly's room, Meggie whispered, "Do you still think it doesn't feel like Christmas?"

Polly turned a radiant face to her. "Oh Meggie, I was wrong … it doesn't matter what it's like outside. Christmas is all about what's on the inside."

Meggie, glowing inside with the joy of having her family all around, couldn't have agreed more.


	15. April Joys

Meggie sighed happily and wriggled her shoulders, arching her back like a cat's to soak up every last bit of sun she possibly could. Lying beside her on the green grass, Polly laughed merrily.

"Are you trying to bury yourself in the earth, Meggie?"

Meggie smiled, not heeding the gentle teasing at all. "It just feels so good to feel sun again. Winter was so long."

"And wet," added Polly, grimacing. "I do not mind winter when there is snow and ice and everything winter is _supposed_ to have, but this winter … ye gods and little fishes!"

"Nothing but rain, rain, rain," Meggie agreed.

"And cold," supplemented Polly.

"And gloom."

"And damp that soaks through your bones, even when it's not raining."

"And …"

"Don't you two ever stop chattering?" growled Matty's voice from a nearby mound. "How am I supposed to get my nap with you two going on and on?"

"You're not supposed to be napping," chimed in Auntie Di sternly, unexpectedly appearing over the ridge. "And you two are not supposed to be chattering. Just because I agreed we could have school outside today does not mean you may slack off. Matty, did you complete those math problems I gave you to work out?"

Matty's brown head, tousled from his contact with the ground, rose into view. "Yes, ma'am," he said, smiling good-naturedly at the girls so they wouldn't take his grumbling too seriously.

"Good. And girls, how is that geography lesson coming?"

Polly groaned, and Meggie sank back into the earth, her hand covering her eyes.

"Mums, who really cares what countries surround the Black Sea?" Polly pleaded. "I'm sure this information isn't truly necessary."

Auntie Di shook her head, though her eyes twinkled. "Someday you may find yourself glad enough to know these places. You know your father has promised to take us all to Europe someday, when we can afford it, and you don't want to be a little ignoramus, do you? Always having to ask other people where you are, relying on guides to get you where you need to go?"

"I never want to go anywhere," Meggie said dreamily, rolling over onto her back and watching the fluffy clouds chase each other through the cerulean sky. "I just want to stay right here in Avonlea, with Papa and Matty, forever and ever."

"Don't you want to go to college someday, Meggie?" Auntie Di asked.

Meggie shrugged her slim shoulders. "What for?" she asked simply. "I don't want to be a famous poet, like Grandfather, or a doctor like Granddad and Uncle Jem, or run an orphan asylum, like you did before you married Uncle Patrick, or anything like that. I just want to stay at home and take care of Papa."

"Don't you want to get married, Meggie?" Polly asked in a shocked voice.

Meggie simply wrinkled her nose at the thought. Having only turned eleven a few weeks ago, matrimony and romance were still far from her mind.

Auntie Di couldn't help but laugh at the look of disgust on the little girl's face, but she asked more seriously, "Don't you at least want to be well-educated?"

"Papa says a person can get as good of an education from studying the world around him as he ever could from books and school," Matty said unexpectedly.

"Well, I suppose that's true, in a way," conceded Auntie Di. "Just the same, while you children are under _my_ teaching, you will complete the tasks I give you, whether you see worth in them or not, so young ladies, get to work on that geography! As for you, Matty, my little mathematician, I think it's time you turned to history."

He made a face but obeyed, and soon all three heads were bent to their books once more.

"Don't you even want to travel?" Polly whispered to Meggie as they studied the location of the Black Sea. "I do. I want to see the entire world before I'm thirty. And then I want to come home and settle down with a husband."

Meggie half-smiled and shook her curls emphatically. "Nothing could be more beautiful than home to me."

"Not more beautiful, perhaps," said Auntie Di, her sharp ears overhearing their conversation. "But there are many different kinds of beauty out there in the world. Don't reject them out of hand, Meggie, without at least giving them a chance."

Meggie smiled agreeably, not wanting to contradict her aunt, but in her heart, she knew that nothing could ever live up to her beloved Green Gables. In her mind, she saw it always the same, with she and Matty just growing older, but nothing else changing. That was what she wanted, not excitement and adventure—or even education.

* * *

Their lessons finally over for the day, the three youths were free to sprawl happily over Tanglewood's lush side lawn. Matty eyed the pond, murmuring something about fish, but appeared content just to lay idly down, his hands beneath his head, a stalk of grass between his teeth as his eyes drifted shut.

Meggie and Polly, true to their reputation at "chatterboxes," gossiped happily as they lounged nearby, their high, sweet voices blending with the birdsong to put Matty into a comfortable doze.

"Do you know, the school board has asked Mum and Dad _again_ when we'll all be put back into school? Apparently they think it reflects poorly on the school to have three children kept out voluntarily."

Meggie made a face. "They came to see Papa, too. He told them no child of his was ever going to be put back under Miss Craig's teaching, no matter how much she said she'd changed. I think he was a little angry that they even suggested it. He was very polite, but his voice had that edge …" she shivered. "They didn't stay long."

Polly giggled. "Dad was polite, too, but Mum had to keep biting her lips. When the one member mentioned that now that Johnny was gone, the troubles would be resolved naturally, she actually had to leave the room. I heard her muttering in the hall, saying that Johnny wasn't the trouble: ignorant, prejudiced people were."

Matty opened his eyes. "Wish Johnny was still here," he grunted. "With him gone, and Peter and Bran at school, I'm the only fellow."

Polly raised her eyebrows in a credible imitation of her mother. "Are you insinuating that you get tired of our company, Matthew Blythe?"

Matty grinned. "Yep."

Polly forgot her maturity enough to lean over and pummel her cousin. Giggling delightedly, the two wrestled happily on the grass, Meggie watching with amusement. She would have liked to join in, but she couldn't decide which side to take—that of her cousin, on the side of female dignity, or that of her twin, her best friend no matter what he said. So she settled with flinging handfuls of grass at them both until they settled down, panting and grinning amiably, and locked little fingers in a truce.

"I miss Johnny, too," Polly announced once she caught her breath. "I didn't think I'd like him _at all_ when he first came—he was so grouchy all the time!—but he changed into a real nice boy after a little while."

"He misses us, too," Meggie volunteered. "He wrote to me last week, saying that he's back at that private school, and he hates it. He said he wished he could be back here, working on the farm and spending time with us."

She didn't mention the rest of the letter, in which he threatened to run away from home as soon as he was old enough. "I don't belong here, Meggie," he'd said. "Mum, Dad, Blythe, Dee—they're all the same type. I'm not. I don't fit in, and we all know it. I love them, but I don't know how to show it so they'll understand. Everything I do is wrong, and everything they do rubs me the wrong way. Someday I'm just going to leave, find my own place in the world. Somewhere I do belong, like I did back at Green Gables."

Meggie had written back, pleading with him not to do anything so foolish—just think what it would do to his mother! She told him he could come back and stay with them any time he needed to, when things got too difficult to bear at home, but please, don't run away. She hated to think of him all alone in the city, getting into goodness-knew-what kind of trouble.

She hadn't told anyone else about that part of the letter, not even Matty. Even though Johnny hadn't asked her to keep it a secret, she still felt like she would be betraying him by revealing it. She wished she could talk to Papa about it, and get his advice, sure that he would have a solution, but she just couldn't bring herself to do so. Johnny had trusted her, and she couldn't let him down.

"Meggie!"

She blinked, realizing that Polly had been calling her name for the last few minutes without her realizing it.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing. "I was thinking."

"Dreaming, more likely," Polly laughed. "I know you. I was just saying, when Peter and Bran come home next month, we should have a big picnic to celebrate."

"At Echo Lodge?" Meggie asked eagerly, shaking off her fears for Johnny. They hadn't been to the little stone house all winter, and she missed it dreadfully.

Polly shook her head, auburn hair catching the sunlight and glittering like copper. "No, I think we should explore. Go east along the north shore, perhaps."

Meggie nodded in agreement. Somehow, the words "north shore" always seemed magical to her, conjuring up images of rough, rocky land and wild seas. The fact that the north shore was in actuality fairly tame did nothing to dispel this thrilling dream. A day's travel following it as it meandered east sounded perfect, especially with her cousins and brother.

"We're not allowed to go along the shore by ourselves, but with Peter, our parents should allow us," Polly continued.

"Just Peter? Why not Bran?" Matty asked dryly.

Polly rolled her green eyes expressively. "You know as well as I do that Bran is more likely to get himself into trouble along the shore than all three of us put together!"

Matty chuckled. "D'you suppose he'll ever grow up?"

"I doubt it," Polly sniffed.

"I hope not," Meggie said fondly. "I like him just as he is."

Matty heaved himself up with a sigh. "Well, we've dawdled here long enough. Come on, Meggie, Papa will be waiting for us." His limp was hardly noticeable at all anymore, though the leg had pained him a great deal during the wet winter months. Matty was a true Stoic, however, and accepted the pain as a part of life.

"It could have been worse," he pointed out philosophically, when Meggie wept for the pain that racked him during the long, cold nights. "I could have lost my leg altogether. A little pain just means it's still there."

Meggie was unable to endure it as calmly as he did, suffering far more on his behalf than he himself did, but now that spring and warm weather were here, she rejoiced to see him moving comfortably and easily, though, as the doctor had told him, he would never be a runner.

Hand-in-hand, the two walked back to Green Gables, leaving Polly lolling lazily on the grass. As they walked, they talked over all their plans for Green Gables in the upcoming year, sounding for all the world like a pair of sober, elderly farmers, rather than two eleven-year-olds with spring singing through their veins.

"I really need to expand the vegetable garden," Meggie said anxiously. "Auntie Di doesn't want to be bothered with one of her own this year, so we'll have to raise enough for both families. Vegetables are _ruinously_ expensive at the stores."

"And I have to fix that back fence," Matty agreed. "Papa is talking about getting more cows, which means we'll be using that back pasture more, and I don't want to spend half my time chasing them out of our neighbours' fields."

"Like Grandmother and Mr. Harrison," Meggie giggled, and they laughed together as they thought back to one of the many stories Grandmother told them of her years growing up at Green Gables.

"As long as I don't sell anybody else's cow," Matty said. "But I think we need to repaint Green Gables, too. We didn't get to it last summer, and it's starting to fade a bit."

"We don't want it looking shabby," Meggie agreed briskly. "There's always so much to be done in the spring!"

"I know, but," Matty grinned, "I wouldn't want it any other way, would you?"

"Not a bit," Meggie laughed in return, and they entered their own yard with glowing faces, much to the pleasure of their father, just coming out of the barn from tending stock, to whom they were more important than any crops or paint or cows.


	16. A New Cousin

It was not the most propitious day for a picnic: gloomy, grey, with the threat of rain looming overhead, and a clammy dampness in the air. The heat wave that had racked the continent for the last few weeks had subsided for the day, leaving the air humid and sticky and stale. Nevertheless, five merry little souls set out on their adventure for the north shore, making their own sunshine as they went.

Bran had arrived home for the summer two weeks ago, Peter three days after him. Both boys were glad to be done with their studies for the year, though Peter was deeply concerned about affairs in Europe.

"Hitler and Mussolini are getting out of control," he said angrily to Meggie, during one of their first private talks together. "They've both defied the League of Nations—Hitler practically spit in its face when he reoccupied the Rhineland—and the League just sits there and twiddles its collective thumbs, spouting nonsense about 'aggression' and 'peace.' Peace! Those madmen are going to start another war if we do nothing to prevent it. And now, God help us, England's king is not only ineffective and uncaring, some consider him pro-Hitler. If England won't stand against tyranny, who will?"

"Peter," Meggie said, fear clutching at her throat, "You don't really think there'll be another war, do you?"

Peter opened his mouth to answer, looked down at her white little face, and remembered that, despite her maturity, she was only eleven, after all. He checked his impetuous words of affirmation. "I hope not, little chum," he said gravely, instead. "I hope to God not."

Not particularly reassured by this, Meggie still fretted for a day or so about the possibility of war. If there was one, Peter was old enough to fight, and probably would. What would happen then? It worried away at her until her natural optimism reasserted itself. Of course there wouldn't be a war! Everything would work out; it simply _had_ to. Why, everyone knew that the last war was the last real war this world would ever see. Old Rev. Meredith insisted that it had been the birthing pangs of a new world, one which delighted in order and peace, one which would see no more wars. And _he_ was a minister, so of course he would know all about it. Peter was just getting all worked up over nothing, probably as a result of too much studying. This summer would help calm him back down.

In the meantime, she was young, it was summer, and today she was going on a picnic with her brother and cousins, her very favourite people in the world. She and Polly had braved the heat of the last couple of days to bake all kinds of goodies and tidbits, and now they were strolling jauntily along, baskets swinging freely from their arms.

Bran mopped his forehead with his checked shirt sleeve, leaving it damp with sweat. "Whew! You'd think that with it being this overcast, we'd have some relief from the heat. This was not what I dreamed about when I was stewing over my finals in a stuffy old classroom in Charlottetown."

"It'll get better once we reach the shore," Peter promised. "There's always a breeze coming off the gulf."

"A picnic sounded like such a good idea earlier," mourned Polly. "I didn't know the weather was going to turn out like this."

"Oh, what's the point in complaining about the weather?" Matty said, exasperated. "You can't change it by complaining. I'm just glad we get to spend the day by the shore, like Peter said, instead of sweltering in the fields or the house."

"Right you are, Matty," Peter agreed. "There are enough real things to be worrying about, without wasting our time bemoaning the heat."

Nothing more was said until they scrambled down the sandstone cliffs to the shore, where a long, drawn-out "ah" rose from all throats in response to the fresh salt air blowing in their faces. The gulf was at its fiercest today, with the grey waters whipping wildly in the breeze, the surf churning angrily as it met the shore, and the roar of the waves echoing upon itself and magnifying ten thousand times.

Meggie, quiet little soul though she may have been, found _something_ in her reaching out to the elements, and rejoicing in their very ferocity. She wanted to run and leap and dance along with the waves, becoming one with the wildness of her surroundings.

Looking at her companions, she saw that Polly was shrinking back slightly, Bran was grinning in open delight, Matty was curiously calm in the face of the water's rage, and Peter's expression mirrored her own strange enthrallment. Catching her eye, his own eyes started to dance in exhilaration, and he caught her hand up in his larger one.

"Let's run!" he shouted, and the two of them tore off down the shore, followed closely by Bran. Polly wouldn't run, and Matty couldn't, so the two of them ambled amiably behind, Matty courteously walking between Polly and the water's edge, sheltering her somewhat from its power.

Laughing breathlessly, the runners finally collapsed a ways down the shore, panting and holding their sides.

"We might as well—catch our breath—while waiting for the slowpokes," Bran gasped out.

Peter laughed and tossed his head back, sending his damp hair flinging off his forehead. "I needed that—oh, how I needed that," he said triumphantly. "I think I just shook off nine months of frustration from school."

Meggie said nothing. The intensity of her emotions had almost frightened her as she raced with the elements. She had never felt that strange … _longing_ … before, that desire to stretch out and escape from … what? She certainly didn't want to escape from anything. She was happy, content; she didn't want anything to change. So why had she felt such freedom in running with the wind?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Bran.

"I think we're about to have some company," he said, pointing past them. Meggie and Peter turned, and saw a sturdy figure striding toward them, something in its attitude suggesting that even a wild day couldn't stop it from fulfilling its purpose.

"I wonder who that is?" Meggie speculated. "It doesn't look like anyone from Avonlea."

"Let's go say hello," Bran suggested, leaping up.

"Wait …" Peter started to say, but it was too late. Bran had already started jogging toward the figure, now defined as undoubtedly female, and she had seen him and increased her pace to meet him halfway. Peter sighed. "So much for our family picnic."

"Oh, I'm sure she won't stay long," Meggie consoled him. "She looks as though she has someplace to be. Come on, it won't hurt anything to go and introduce ourselves."

Agreeing reluctantly, Peter took her hand again and they made their way to where Bran and the girl were talking. Meggie liked the looks of her: she appeared about the same age as Bran, with a good-natured, no-nonsense face with laughter lurking at its corners, a wide mouth and ready smile, sparkling golden-brown eyes, and gorgeous hair the color of a russet apple in autumn, pulled back into a neat French braid.

"Peter, Meggie," Bran said, motioning to them without ever taking his eyes off the girl. "This is Jane Stuart, of Lantern Hill, over there a ways." He waved aimlessly off in the direction from which the girl—Jane—had come. "Jane, this is my brother, Peter Samuels, and my cousin, Meggie Blythe. My sister, Polly, and Meggie brother Matty, are the two figures you can see back there." He grinned engagingly at her.

Jane smiled happily at them. "I'm pleased to meet you," she said. Her voice matched her face: pleasant, strong, with laughter hidden below its depths. "I didn't expect anyone else to be out today. Normally I love Lantern Hill, but the baby was crying, Mother was fretting, and Aunt Irene picked today of all days to visit! I just _had_ to get out, so I decided a walk along the shore would be just the thing to shake off all my frustrations."

"Who's Aunt Irene?" Meggie asked, liking Jane at once.

"My dad's sister. She's not such a bad sort … not really, once you get to understand her … _I_ didn't understand her for the longest time, but I do now … but she can get to be a bit much at times. Especially times like these, when the air is so clammy you just want to scream!"

"Well, since you're here, and we're here, you must join us for our picnic," Bran said. "There's plenty of food, and we'd love the company."

Peter opened his mouth, but Jane answered before he could get a word in edgewise. "Thanks, I'd like to very much! As for food, I brought a bit of something for my own lunch, so I won't need to take too much of yours."

"Bran's right, we have plenty," Meggie added. She felt sorry for Peter, but she couldn't regret the chance to get to know this interesting girl better. "You're more than welcome to anything we have."

"Of course," Peter conceded, his inborn courtesy overcoming his disappointment. "And here comes the rest of our party," as Matty and Polly finally reached them.

Introductions were made all around, and the group decided that right there, right then, was the best time and place to eat. Meggie and Polly spread the old blanket that served as their picnic cloth, the boys secured it with rocks at the corners, and they all set to unpacking the baskets and setting places.

Jane raved about their cooking, saying she had to borrow their recipes. "I collect recipes," she told them. "I adore cooking. Aunt Irene says I'm abominably vain about my ability, but it's not vanity to know when you're good at something, and you like doing it. I'm no good at all at lots of things, but I _can_ cook."

"Ha," said Bran. "I bet you're good at everything you do."

"Well, yes," Jane admitted, "But that's only because I only do those things I'm good at. If I'm not good at something, I don't waste my time struggling with it. I'm no good at all at things like picking out clothes, or fussing with hair, so I let Mums choose my clothes, and just bundle my hair back any which way to keep it out of my face."

"Your mother has good taste," Polly said admiringly, eying Jane's sleeveless cream linen dress with wide navy belt and jaunty little navy neck bow enviously.

Jane twisted her mouth wryly. "Well, yes, she does, but this actually isn't one of her picks. Mrs. Ford gave it to me for my birthday this spring. Mrs. Ford is an _exquisite_ dresser."

"Mrs. Ford!" cried five voices.

Jane looked puzzled. "Yes, Mrs. Kenneth Ford. Her husband is the chief editor of my dad's newspaper."

"You know Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken?" Polly gasped.

Jane's mouth dropped open. "You're _related_ to them?"

"Aunt Rilla's our mum's youngest sister," Bran informed her, grinning even more at this unexpected connection.

"And our papa's," Meggie added.

"Then … Gilly and Anna and Ally and Teddy …?"

"Our cousins," Matty supplemented.

A wistful look crossed Jane's face. "Oh, how lucky you are!" she exclaimed. "Gilly and the twins are always talking about their cousins, and how much fun you all have every summer, and I've always wished I could be part of a huge family like that. I only have one cousin, you see, and she and I don't get along very well. I have a baby sister now, but even that's not the same as having loads and loads of family, like you all."

"You must consider yourself part of our family, then," Bran said promptly.

"Yes," Meggie agreed. "An honorary cousin, so to speak."

Jane looked positively delighted. "Thank you!" she said fervently. "I'd love that."

"In fact," Bran continued. "I think you ought to come back to Avonlea with us when we're done here, so you can meet your new aunt and uncles. I can run you back to Lantern Hill this evening in Dad's car."

Peter choked over his sandwich. Bran, considered an unreliable driver at best, was not allowed to drive the car without Patrick, Shirley, or Peter with him. Bran's dark eyes flashed an unmistakable warning at him, however, so Peter obligingly kept his mouth shut.

Jane's eyes twinkled. "Agreed. I told Mother and Dad not to expect me back until this evening … it's my turn to put Lyssa to bed, and I don't want to miss that … but I should have time to meet my new 'family,' as long as someone can get me back before seven."

"Consider it done," Bran said grandly.

Seeing that Peter and Matty were both on the verge of laughter, Meggie hastily changed the subject. "Is Lyssa your sister?"

"Yes," Jane beamed. "She's the darlingest little thing you ever saw, all golden sunshine and smiles. She's not even a year old yet, but she knows me, and cries when I leave. She's so sweet; I wish you all could see her."

"Well, now that you're adopted into the family, I'm sure we will," smiled Meggie cheerily.

"You'll love her. Teddy Ford absolutely adores her. I think he's going to want to marry her when they're old enough."

"Teddy's only five!" Polly cried.

"I know, but you should see the look in his eyes when he gazes at Lyssa. I tell you, he's smitten," Jane laughed.

"Where do you go to school, Jane?" Peter asked, changing the subject once again. Talk of babies bored him. "Are you at Queen's?"

Jane shook her vibrant head. "No. We only live at Lantern Hill during the summers. I go to a private school in Toronto right now, and when I graduate from there, I'll probably attend the University of Toronto, although Dad wants me to go to Smith, in Massachusetts."

"Smith! That's a very prestigious school," Peter said in admiration.

Jane made a face. "I suppose it is, but the truth is, I'm not very keen on school. I'd rather stay at home with Mums and Lyssa, but Dad wants me to get the very best education possible. It's really rather frustrating."

"I understand that," Meggie said sympathetically, thinking of Auntie Di's insistence on higher education. It wasn't that Meggie disapproved of higher education for women—unlike Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson, who maintained that it was the cause of all the world's ills—but she simply wasn't interested in it for herself, and didn't see _why_ she should be expected to do something just because she could.

"But," Jane said, brightening, "I won't finish at St. Agatha's for another three years … not until I'm eighteen … and hopefully at that point I'll be able to convince Dad that I've really had enough schooling."

"Peter just finished his second year at Redmond," Polly put in proudly. "And Bran finished at Queen's this year, and could go to Redmond this fall if he wanted."

"Which I don't," Bran put in hastily. "I want to see something of life before I tie myself down to four more years of school. Unlike Peter here," throwing an affectionately mocking grin at his brother, "I'm not in love with studying. I want to live a bit, see the world, and then go to college when I have a better idea of what I want to do with my life."

"I think that's very _sensible_," said Jane, and from the tone of her voice, it was obvious that was the highest praise she could offer one.

Peter shook his head. "Meanwhile, I'm trying not to think about the fact that in only two more years I'll be _forced_ to face the real world," he murmured aside to Meggie.

She giggled.

Matty suddenly broke into the conversation. "I hate to interrupt, but I think we'd best be getting back. I don't like the looks of that cloud," pointing to the seaward sky.

An enormous back cloud, curling at the edges into a ghastly green and white, was rushing in toward land. Meggie caught her breath in dismay at the gruesome sight, and Peter started up to his feet.

"Pack this up," he ordered sharply, in that tone of voice which was impossible to disobey. "We've got to _hurry_. We don't want to be caught out here when that reaches us. Everyone, look lively!"

Plates and cutlery flew as they tumbled the things into the baskets pell-mell and stuffed the blanket in after. In a remarkably short amount of time they were rushing as quickly as possible back toward Avonlea, Peter in the lead, Bran and Jane bringing up the rear. Meggie held tight to Matty's hand, watching his face anxiously for any signs of strain on his leg from the hurried movement.

"Are you all right?" she whispered to him, seeing his face tighten a bit and sensing the shift in his gait.

"Don't worry about me," he answered obliquely. "I'll get back just fine."

He was as good as his word, but Meggie was still relieved to see Tanglewood come into view. The six adventurers fled into the doorway and into Auntie Di's relieved arms just as the storm broke, sending gallons of water across the land seemingly in seconds, as lightning cracked and thunder boomed almost in unison. Meggie flinched instinctively away from the noise, but felt a sense of contentment, all the same. The storm was out there, and they were inside, safe and sound from whatever it threw at them.

And there was Papa, coming from Uncle Patrick's study! He was just as relieved to see them as Auntie Di was, and told them that he and Uncle Patrick had been moments away from going out to find them.

"But I knew, with my Matty and Peter there, that you would have had enough sense to beat the storm back," he said, ruffling Matty's hair with pride.

"And not a moment too soon," said Uncle Patrick, peering out into an afternoon that was suddenly as black as midnight. He turned away from the window with a shudder. "I only hope everyone is as safe as we are," he added quietly, but Meggie heard him, and offered up a quick prayer for those who were without loving and warm homes like theirs.


	17. A Grand Trip

"Well," said Auntie Di, setting the phone receiver down and looking somewhat blankly around. "Well."

"Well, _what_, Mum?' Polly asked curiously, looking up from the table where she and Meggie were cutting out cookies.

"I need to talk to your father," was Auntie Di's oblique response as she drifted from the kitchen and moved toward the study without even looking at her daughter.

Meggie and Polly exchanged glances. "That was odd," whispered Polly. She narrowed her green eyes in the direction of the study. "I wish I weren't so well-bred … how I would love to listen at the door!"

Meggie giggled a bit, then quickly sobered. "You don't think anything is wrong, do you?"

Polly shook her head. "Mum didn't look worried, she just looked _stunned_. I wonder who she was talking to? I couldn't make anything out from her end of the conversation."

"It wasn't any of the other aunts," Meggie said. "I think we would have been able to tell. It sounded like an old friend."

Polly shrugged impatiently. "Ah, I wish she'd told us _something_! Now I'm not going to be able to concentrate on anything until I find out what's happening."

Meggie placed another cookie on the baking sheet. "We'd better concentrate on these cookies, or the boys will be very disappointed when they come in from the fields!"

Polly laughed in agreement, and the two turned back to their labours, though each kept shooting surreptitious glances toward the study from time to time. The murmur of voices rose and fell from inside it, but neither Auntie Di nor Uncle Patrick appeared until dinner time, when the boys and Shirley came in from working.

Not until they were all seated around the table and Uncle Patrick had said grace did Polly finally have a chance to question her mother.

"Mum, who _was_ that who called this morning?"

Auntie Di, her loaded fork already partway to her mouth, froze for a moment. She looked at Uncle Patrick, who simply raised his eyebrows, returned her fork to the plate, and drew a deep breath. "Well," she said calmly, "I had been hoping this could wait until after we had eaten, but … that was Lady Leah."

"How's Freddie?" Peter asked immediately, while Polly and Meggie shared a confused look. Lady Leah Wright was one of Auntie Di's friends from the time she was running the Orphan Home, who had married Jack Wright and moved back to England. Her younger brother Freddie was an English Earl (something Polly thought terribly romantic) and Peter's good friend. There was nothing in all this to warrant Auntie Di's mysterious behaviour.

"Freddie is doing well," Auntie Di said, "as are both Leah and Jack. In fact, they are doing so well that they want us to visit them for a couple of months this summer."

"Us?" Polly asked, her eyes starting to sparkle with excitement. "All of us? Go to England for two months?"

Auntie Di nodded. "Your father, me, the boys, and you, Polly. You know Leah has been wanting us to visit forever, and she was positively insistent on the phone. Rumours are abounding in Europe … they aren't sure how much longer travel will be easy or safe, and you all are old enough now to really appreciate the trip."

"So are we going?" Peter asked in a somewhat strangled voice. Meggie watched him in concern. His face was rather white underneath his summer tan, and his eyes glittered feverishly.

"We haven't decided," Uncle Patrick said. "I think your mother and Polly ought to go, at the very least, but I'm not sure about the rest of us. Summer is a busy time for farmers, you know, and it's not fair to leave Shirley and Matty with both farms to run on their own. Even if you boys decide to go, I think I probably ought to stay here."

"Nonsense," Shirley spoke up for the first time. "Matty and I will be just fine. I'll call Nan and see if they can spare Johnny to come help out while you are gone, and we can always hire some extra hands from the village if necessary. This is a wonderful chance, Patrick, you shouldn't let it pass."

Auntie Di beamed at her brother. "Thank you, Shirley. Now children, you all are old enough to make up your own minds about this. Would you like to go spend July and August in England? Bran, if you decide to go, we'll make a point to visit Wales, as well."

Unsurprisingly, Polly was the first to speak. "Yes!" she squealed. She sprang from her chair and danced around the kitchen, her glee unable to be contained. "Oh, just think of how _romantic_ it will be! Peter, you want to come, don't you?"

Peter blinked his eyes glassily. "If Uncle Shirley thinks he can spare us … yes, I'd rather enjoy it," he said tonelessly. "It will be good to see Freddie again."

Auntie Di turned to her other son. "Well, my Bran? Will we make it a family party?"

Bran's mouth turned up in a sweet smile. "You are offering me the chance to visit the land of my dreams … what else would I say but yes?"

"Then it's settled!" Auntie Di clapped her hands like a girl. "Oh my, this is so exciting! I've never been to England. Oh dear," a frown suddenly settling on her brow. "We have less than a month to prepare. There's so much to be done!"

Uncle Patrick laughed. "Don't fret, my dear, I'm sure we will make it all work." He tugged at Polly's hand as she danced by his chair. "Now, dearest daughter, do you think you can contain yourself long enough to eat something?"

"Oh Dad, how can you think about eating at a time like this?" Polly laughed. "I have to go _pack_!"

She flew up the stairs. Auntie Di sprang up herself. "I need to call Leah back and tell her we're coming," darting toward the kitchen.

Peter was the next to rise. "If you'll excuse me," patting his mouth politely with his napkin, "I have some more work to get done outside." With that, he vanished out the door.

"Dad, can I borrow the car?" Bran asked eagerly. "There's … someone I want to go tell about this."

Uncle Patrick tried to frown at him, but Bran's hopeful face proved to be too much for him, and he sighed and relented. "Just try not to get yourself or anyone else smashed up," he said resignedly.

Bran's white teeth flashed out in a brilliant smile. "Thanks, Dad!"

He, too, disappeared from the room, and the four left sitting around the table stared at each other bemusedly.

"Well, Shirley," Uncle Patrick said.

"Well, Patrick," Shirley responded, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.

Uncle Patrick laughed. "Things certainly have a way of changing in a flash, don't they? I suppose I'd better get down to the village this evening and see who's available to hire out."

"And I'd best call Nan about Johnny."

"And I should get back to work in the fields," Matty chimed in.

"And I …" Meggie piped up, then paused. What did she need to do? For a moment, she felt completely forlorn. Peter and Bran and Polly were leaving, and Matty was becoming one of "the men" before her very eyes. Where was she going to fit this summer?

"You," said Shirley, rising and kissing her forehead. "Will do your best at whatever you do, because that's the way you are."

Meggie beamed up at him. Papa always was able to make her feel so special and loved! "I'll weed the vegetable garden," she decided. After all, with Auntie Di and Polly leaving, all the responsibilities of taking care of the men would fall on her shoulders, and she needed to be well-prepared.

Feelings of uselessness vanished as Meggie suddenly realized how much responsibility she really was going to have! Why, she was going to have to run Green Gables all by herself, without any Auntie Di nearby for advice, as well as take care of Papa and Matty and Johnny, and any hired help that came in!

"Goodness," she said aloud, getting up from the table herself. "I need to get right home and start preparing!"

She kissed her father and uncle absently and flew out the door, running for Green Gables.

Matty, finding himself alone with the rest of dinner, calmly set about finishing his meal before heading back out to the fields. After all, he told himself, even if everyone else had gone mad, there was no point in him trying to work on an empty stomach.

* * *

Two days later, much to everyone's amazement, plans were well underway for "the great adventure," as Polly had taken to dramatically calling it. Lady Leah, with her usual skill and foresight, had already booked passage for the Samuels family before she even called Auntie Di, so travel arrangements were in order—though Auntie Di moaned about the long sea voyage.

"Ghastly," she murmured, her face paling. "Shirley, couldn't you just fly us over?"

Shirley laughed. "You'll survive, sister mine. You always do."

Auntie Di shook her curly head. "Yes, and every time I swear will be my last."

Auntie Nan was so delighted with the thought of Di and Patrick being able to visit England that she would have sent both boys over, and hired extra help for the farms herself, had her brother permitted it. However, Shirley calmly told her only Johnny's services would be needed, and they had the hired hand matter taken care of—as they did. Gervase, Uncle Patrick's usual help, was willing to stay on as overseer (taking Uncle Patrick's role), and two of the Avonlea boys, Will Gillis and Jacob Miller, agreed to come and help out for the two months Uncle Patrick and the boys would be gone.

Auntie Di even suggested hiring a girl to come help out in the kitchen, so that not all the work would be on Meggie's shoulders, but Meggie vehemently opposed that idea. Why, all she wanted was to be able to run Green Gables! Now was the perfect time to start.

Auntie Di was still unsure about an eleven-year-old's ability to take care of everything by herself, but reassurance came from an unexpected source.

Jane and Lyssa Stuart, by now firm friends with the cousins, dropped by to see if there was anything they could do to help with travel preparations. Lyssa, a golden child of smiles and sunshine, immediately set about charming and distracting the men, while Jane sat down with the ladies at the kitchen table to plan what they still needed to do.

"And you needn't worry about things back here, Auntie," Jane said with the charming familiarity she showed to her "adopted" family. "I was keeping house for Dad when I was right around Meggie's age, and with far less experience. And you know, Meggie, if you have any problems or need any help, just let me know and I'll do what I can. I had lots of help from the Lantern Corners folk myself, and I've made plenty of mistakes, so there's not much that's out of my realm of experience. Just don't ask me to make doughnuts," she added with a grimace.

Auntie Di's face relaxed. "Oh Jane, that would be such a relief, knowing there was at least _somebody_ Meggie could call on if needed. I know you think you can handle everything, dear," to Meggie, "but there are so many little things that crop up that can take you by surprise. And to be perfectly honest, there are very few Avonlea women who I would trust to help. Jessie Wright, perhaps, but she's visiting Anne Cordelia for a few weeks. As for the rest … oh, they're fine housewives and good people in their own way, but …"

"They are not of those who know Joseph," finished Jane (who had picked that phrase up from Aunt Rilla) with a laugh.

"Exactly," Auntie Di agreed.

Meggie was still a bit miffed that Auntie Di thought she wouldn't be able to manage things on her own, but she accepted Jane's offer sweetly and thanked her quite graciously.

"And Mums will be happy to do anything for you all, too," Jane added. "She wanted to come over with Lyssa and me today, but Little Aunt Em sent for her, and so Mums had to go to her instead. But she wanted me to tell you that she will be by before you leave."

"I'd be delighted to see your mother again," Auntie Di said warmly. "It's been years—you were just a little baby the last time Robin and I spoke, Jane."

"And I'll be willing to wager she was a right pain then, too," teased Bran in passing, tugging on Jane's braid as he walked behind her chair.

Jane tossed her head, pretending to be miffed, but a smile hovering around her mouth gave her away. "I'm sure stories could be told about _you_, Bran Samuels."

"Oh, don't even get me started," laughed Auntie Di. "Bran gave me more problems than all the rest of the orphans put together."

"And yet for all that, you still kept me," Bran winked.

Auntie Di reached up and patted his cheek. "I wouldn't trade you for a million 'good' boys, my Bran."

"I know," he said cheekily, before strolling back off again.

Jane said nothing, but her eyes followed him as he went, and her conversation for the next few moments was slightly distracted. Auntie Di smiled knowingly, sighed a bit, and turned the discussion to what historical spots they were going to visit while in the Old Country.

Meggie joined in until she saw Peter wander by aimlessly; she excused herself and went after him, catching up with her older cousin in the back garden.

"Peter?" she queried, her eyes worried. "Are you all right?" He had been acting so oddly since they had decided to go over to England: avoiding people, shying away from talking about the trip, eating next to nothing … not exactly the kind of excitement Meggie would have expected from him at visiting his homeland.

He tried out a sickly smile on her now. "Of course I am, little chum."

Meggie placed her hands on her hips and tried to sound as stern as Auntie Di. "Peter Samuels, you know that's not true. Something is bothering you, and I want to know what it is."

Peter burst out laughing—the first hearty laugh he'd had in days. "Oh Meggie, you sound so fierce and look so innocent!"

Meggie scowled at him. "I _am_ fierce, and I'm not going to leave until you tell me what is going on."

Peter smiled sunnily at her, his good humour restored by his laugh. "Very well, little warrior. Have a seat, and I'll tell you my troubles." He patted the grass next to him.

Meggie promptly sat down, and he began, twirling a blade of grass aimlessly between his long, slender fingers.

"You see, faun, I was seven years old when Polly and I left England after our parents died. She was only a baby; she doesn't remember anything about it. But I do … and I dreamed for years of returning there. It took me ages to accept that I was never going to live there again—it wasn't until a few years after Mum and Dad adopted us that I finally reconciled myself to being a Canadian. I have such wonderful memories of England—a little blurred now, but still treasured. My only memories of my birth parents are from England. And I'm just … to return there now, as an adult …" he shook his head hopelessly. "It can't possibly be the same. And I'm thrilled to go home … my _first_ home … and scared to see how it'll be changed from my memories … and above all, I don't want to hurt Mum. She's done so much for me and Polly, and I really do think of her as my mother now, but to be going back to where I lived with my first parents? It's bound to stir up emotions. It's just so much to try to handle, and I've only a little while to prepare myself."

Meggie's brown eyes were limpid with sympathy. It was easy for her to forget that Peter, Bran, and Polly were adopted; they were such an integral part of the family now (plus, she had only been a baby when they were adopted, so she couldn't ever remember a time when they _weren't_ family), but it made sense that Peter would be struggling with the conflict of his old life and his new. She wished she could say something to help him, but for once, her store of Mother Nature's wisdom abandoned her.

Peter sensed her distress on his behalf and patted her hand. "Don't fret, dear heart," he said softly. "It will work out. I am still looking forward to going over … seeing Freddie again, and Lady Leah. You know, Freddie has written so much to me about their country estate that I almost feel as though I've been there. It will be good to see it firsthand. And there are other things, too. Mum's talking about visiting Oxford and Cambridge … just think of those cities, Meggie! All the brilliant minds that have come out of there. Maybe someday …" his voice trailed off into silence.

Meggie sat quietly with him, letting his thoughts carry him away, across the sea. After a little bit, he glanced sideways at her and laughed.

"You know what I've just been thinking? I have one memory of England that stands out perfectly clearly. It's spring, and we're on a picnic out to the countryside. We lived in London, you know, so any time we could get out of the city was a real treat. Polly was just a newborn—I remember seeing her all wrapped up in our mother's arms, with her copper hair just peeking out of the top of the blanket—so I was probably about six. We rode on a train, and then in a hired carriage, for what felt like miles and miles. We ate our picnic in a field, and there, on the banks of the road, were wild primroses. Ever since then, primroses have just spoken of England to me … and then I glance over just now, and see you sitting there in the grass with your yellow dress, and you remind me of a fresh primrose yourself." He leaned over and hugged her. "I'm going to miss you, little chum. I wish I could take you with me."

Meggie smiled and hugged him back. "But just think of how much fun you'll have writing to me about everything. Peter," suddenly serious, "what was she like—your mother?"

Peter sat up, his face pensive. "I don't really remember much about her anymore. It's been eleven years since they died. I remember she was tall, with dark hair and bright eyes. She was always laughing … she was very sweet, very loving. I thought she was the most beautiful mama in the world." He looked at her quizzically. "Why?"

Meggie shrugged. "I wish I could remember _my_ mama," she said softly. "All I know is what little Papa says about her. He doesn't talk much about her … I think it hurts him too much. And nobody else in the family says anything at all."

Peter nodded sympathetically. "I know they all loved her very much. And I've heard Mum say that you look just like her, except with your father's eyes."

Meggie brightened. "Really? Oh, I like to think that I'm like Mama! Thank you, Peter." She hugged him and then leapt to her feet. "I should get back inside, I promised Polly I'd help her choose which of her dresses she should take." She flashed him a brilliant smile and then darted inside, leaving her cousin shaking his head in equal parts affection and bemusement.

He looked down at the limp stem of grass in his hand. "I still miss you," he whispered softly into the wind. "I love Mum and Dad … but I still miss you both. I hope I can find some piece of you left in England … without hurting anyone." He leaned back on his elbows and gazed up into the blue sky, dreaming of how much bluer it was going to seem in England … his first and best-loved home.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I know, it's been a while since I've updated ... but can you blame me? Baby is due in nineteen days! I still have so much to get done! In other words, don't expect much for updates in the next few months. I have a feeling that even finding time to sleep will be tricky, much less finding time to sit down at the computer and write fanfiction. Anyway, hope you like this latest chapter, and as always, reviews make a very pregnant lady very happy._


	18. A Day of Fishing

"What news from England, my heart?" Shirley asked his daughter as she folded up her letters from Peter and Polly.

"Everything is—in Polly's words—_smashing_," Meggie answered demurely, only a little dimple lurking at the corner of her mouth betraying her amusement at Polly's dramatics.

Matty rolled his eyes, Johnny snorted, and Shirley laughed outright. "Sounds like our little Polly is turning into quite the proper Englishwoman."

"Auntie Di and Bran are going over to Wales for a week, and Uncle Patrick is going to take Polly to London while they're away. Peter was going to go as well—he wanted to visit his old home—but in the end, he decided to stay at Ellsworth—that's the Mercer's country estate—so he and Freddie can 'potter about,' he said."

_Even though I was a London boy originally, I find I'm much more drawn to the countryside,_ Peter had written. _Somehow, all that I thought was important about revisiting my past has faded away. I've discovered my true heritage here, right at Ellsworth. Not a physical heritage, but a spiritual one. It doesn't make any sense when I try to write it—and I'm all muddled up at the moment—but I'll explain it to you when I get back. I'm glad I came, Meggie. I've come into my own. Redmond society will never bother me again._

Most of Polly's letter had been about how breathtakingly handsome Freddie was—_Lord_ Freddie, she insisted on calling him. She declared that she was completely in love, and was already planning her English aristocratic wedding.

_Doesn't Lady Polly—or Lady Mary, when I want to be formal—sound grand?_ she wrote gushingly.

Meggie had not yet come to the age of considering boys anything but good chums, so she found Polly's histrionics rather boring, but knew her cousin well enough to know that a few weeks after she returned home, Freddie would be forgotten and a new interest would take precedent. In fact, Meggie suspected that one mention of the Dramatic Club starting up in Avonlea that fall would push Freddie completely out of Polly's mind. She, Meggie, was too young to join, but Polly just barely met the age requirement. With her love of the dramatic, it was the perfect opportunity for the would-be actress.

"It seems like they've been gone forever," Matty commented now, peeking at the other occupants of the room over the top of his book. "I've almost forgotten what it was like to not have Johnny, Will, and Jake working with us."

"Yes," Meggie added. "As much as I miss them, I do so love having you here, Johnny. I wish you could stay forever."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. Johnny's misery at home hadn't improved one bit, so he had told her when he first came to Green Gables, and he would have given almost anything to be able to stay there with them, rather than returning to Ottawa.

As usual when feeling at all emotional, Johnny scowled. "Wouldn't be so bad if the other two boys didn't keep trying to boss me," he said gruffly. "They think just because I'm a city boy and younger, they can tell me exactly what to do."

"Ah well," Shirley said amiably around the pipe stem in his mouth—free of Di's disapproving influence, he had finally started to smoke a pipe, something he had wanted to do for years. "They're at that age when they think they know everything. Young Will was trying to tell _me_ how to do something yesterday. Just be patient with them, Johnny lad. And remember their foolishness when you get to be that age!"

A comfortable silence fell, broken again by Matty after a bit. "Tomorrow's supposed to be rainy, Papa," he said, _apropos_ of nothing.

"Is it?" Shirley said, shaking out the newspaper.

"Yep," Matty said laconically. After a pause, he added, "Jake said the trout are biting in the pond."

"Oh-ho," Shirley chuckled, folding up the paper. "So that's what's on your mind, son?"

"You did promise," Matty reminded him.

"So I did," Shirley agreed amiably. "Well, how about it, then? I'm sure Will and Jake wouldn't mind a day off."

Meggie's eyes lit up. "May I come too, Papa?"

"Of course," Shirley answered. "You're the best out of all of us."

Johnny looked from one to the other, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Fishing," Matty said in satisfaction.

"We get up at dawn," Meggie elaborated, "and it's always best on a rainy day, and we go down to our 'secret spot' and spend all morning fishing, and then we come back and have a fish fry. You'll come too, won't you?"

Johnny shrugged. "I don't know how to fish," he admitted. "Dad's never had time to teach us—and there aren't that many places in Ottawa to go, anyway."

"Papa can teach you," Meggie said, supremely confident. "He taught both Matty and me when we were just five."

"I'll let you use my old rod," Matty offered.

"You really wouldn't mind?" Johnny asked almost shyly, and each of the other three recognized instinctively that he wasn't just referring to the loan of the rod—it was the entrance into a special family ritual.

"You're more than welcome, son," Shirley said gravely, and Johnny unexpected smile broke slowly over his face.

"All right, then."

Matty hopped up. "I'll call Will and Jake and tell them they don't need to come tomorrow," he said.

Shirley laughed quietly. "The only time Matty's ever _volunteered_ to talk to someone," he observed.

* * *

Accordingly, the next morning saw four stalwart figures trudging through a misty drizzle, rods in hand. Shirley wore his old trench coat; Meggie was in a yellow slicker; while both boys disdained any rain protection.

"What are we, sissies?" Johnny muttered to Matty, who, while he would not have put it in quite those terms, agreed wholeheartedly.

Meggie also carried a basket full of snacks, in case they got hungry through the long morning, and Matty carried the treasured tackle box, an old creel that had belonged to Granddad Blythe when _he_ was a boy.

They arrived at their "secret spot" in good season, and Meggie and Matty instantly set to weighing their lines and picking out their bait with a brisk professionalism that amazed Johnny. He fell into his old scowl as Shirley came to help him.

"I can figure it out," he said gruffly, ashamed that his _girl_ cousin was so much more adept than he. "It can't be that hard."

"Very well," said Shirley composedly, his eyes crinkling up with amusement.

Soon enough, the three Blythes were casting their lines into the stream. Johnny watched them out of the corner of his eye, struggling with which part to hold onto and which part to release. He thought he had it figured out, cast the line—and lost his grip on the entire rod, which landed in the stream with a distinct splash.

His face reddened, but nobody made any fuss. Shirley set his rod down in a clump of willows and helped him fetch the rod back out of the water, handing it back to the boy without a word. Matty and Meggie, indeed, were so intent on their own lines that they barely even noticed Johnny's mishap.

"Try holding it like this, see," Shirley said pleasantly, indicating where and how. "That should help for next time."

With that, he went back to his own fishing, leaving Johnny still embarrassed but relieved that nobody seemed to care that he was making a fool of himself. "Blythe would have laughed at me for half an hour over that," he muttered to himself. He tried again, following his uncle's instruction—and was delighted when the line sailed out over the stream in a graceful arc, landing in the water with a quiet "plop."

"Excellent cast, Johnny," Shirley said quietly. "Now reel it in, and try it next time with bait on the hook."

Johnny flushed angrily again. He _would_ have to forget the bait! Just the sort of thing he was always doing. He shot a quick glance at his cousins, to see if they were snickering at his ignorance—but they were still absorbed in their fishing. Even as he watched, Meggie's face broke into her sunny smile and she reeled in a good sized trout.

"Nice one, Meggie," Shirley said approvingly. "Are you keeping it?"

Meggie examined it with none of the squeamishness one might expect from an eleven-year-old girl holding a slimy, slippery fish. "I think it's big enough for eating," she decided. She removed the hook expertly and strung the fish on a line. She sensed more than saw Johnny's incredulous stare, but misunderstood. "We only keep the ones we can eat," she explained innocently. "The rest we put back."

She re-baited her hook and tossed the line back out without waiting for an answer. Shirley looked from his children to his awe-struck nephew and shook with silent laughter. When he spoke, however, his voice was perfectly grave.

"Meggie and Matty have been fishing since they were five," he explained. "They take it very seriously."

"Maybe I should just watch," Johnny said, his face falling at the thought of trying to compete with his expert cousins.

Shirley shrugged. "You can if you like," he said, "but I think you'll find you enjoy the actual fishing much more. Even if you don't catch anything, it's still a good experience."

"But I can't be as good as they are in just one morning!" Johnny finally blurted in exasperation.

"Of course not," Shirley agreed. "But who says you have to be? Fishing isn't about being the best—it's about having a good time." He finished baiting Johnny's hook and handed the rod to the boy. "Well?"

Johnny stared at him. The thought of _not_ needing to compete, of not having to prove himself the best at all times, had never really occurred to him. In his father's world of politics, competitiveness was simply a matter of survival—if you did not always prove yourself better than your opponent, you didn't get re-elected, simple as that. In school, too, all the children always argued over who had more money, who was more popular, who was smarter or stronger … doing something for the sheer enjoyment of it, not for bragging rights, was not in Johnny's realm of experience.

"If you don't want to fish, you don't have to," Shirley continued, watching the struggle in Johnny's face with pity. "But if you think you'd like it, I see no reason to let how well anyone _else_ fishes affect _your_ pleasure."

Still somewhat dazed with this new concept, Johnny took the rod. "All right," he said without a trace of his usual gruffness. "I'll give it a try."

Shirley nodded approvingly, just as Matty pulled in a fish.

"Nice one, Matty," Johnny said, trying to put into practice some of what his uncle had told him.

Matty made a face. "Too small to keep," he said. "Oh well." He removed the hook and put the fish back in the water, holding it gently between his hands until it found its bearings, then let it swim free.

* * *

"Well, sports," Shirley said on their way back to Green Gables in the afternoon. "I think we've had a very productive morning, don't you?"

"Oh Papa," Meggie laughed, shaking her damp curls at him. "Fishing isn't about being productive. It's about having fun!"

"Good thing, or I might be fired," Shirley laughed. "How is it that you three managed to catch nearly a dozen fish between you, and I caught nothing?"

"Fisherman's luck," said Matty philosophically. "Next time it might be one of us."

Johnny said nothing. He had only caught one fish, compared to Matty's four and Meggie's six, but he felt more pride in that one than either of them could have felt in their numbers. He had struggled and learned and tried again and again—and finally caught one, just before they left, with both his cousins cheering him on as he reeled it in and Uncle Shirley giving quiet instructions to keep him from losing it. He felt enormously tired—and enormously proud, and for the first time perhaps in his life, felt no jealously or resentment that someone else—no, not even his girl cousin—had done better than he. _He_ had accomplished something, and whether it was bigger or smaller, better or worse than theirs didn't matter. In fact, he was even able to congratulate Matty on the size of his prize fish (although Meggie had caught the most, Matty's was decidedly the largest) without even the smallest hint of wishing _he_ had caught it instead.

As they reached the house, Shirley took the string of fish from Matty's hand. "You three go dry off and clean up," he ordered. "I may have been the worst fisherman today, but I'm still the best fish fryer."

"Yes, Papa," Matty and Meggie chorused, running up the stairs to their rooms. Johnny lingered a moment.

"Uncle Shirley," he asked shyly. "Would you teach me how to fry fish?"

Shirley twinkled at him out of his brook-brown eyes. "Certainly. It will be a pleasure to share my cooking secrets with someone—but mind you keep them to yourself. This recipe was given to me by Susan Baker herself, and nobody, not even your Uncle Jem, can match it."

Johnny grinned. "It'll be our secret," he promised.

Shirley reached out and ruffled his hair, just as he might have done to Matty. "That's the boy," he said amiably, and Johnny was left once again wishing he could just stay forever at Green Gables.


	19. Peter's Choice

"I say, Peter."

Peter raised his head indolently from the grass. "Hmm, what?" he murmured sleepily.

It was the perfect English summer day—blue sky, green grass, bright sun, birds singing sweetly in the trees … almost something out of an English novel. It also happened to be the last day of the Samuels' visit with the Wrights and Freddie. Lady Leah, Di, and Polly were shopping in the village; Patrick and Jack were closeted in Jack's study, doing who-knew-what, and Bran was entertaining six-year-old Godwin Wright, a sturdy dark child with all his father's taciturnity of nature. Bran had made it his goal during that trip to make little Godwin laugh, and thus far had failed.

Peter and Freddie were lounging in the garden: Peter lying on his back amidst the roses, one leg folded over a raised knee, a piece of grass between his teeth, Freddie sprawled full-length on a rather uncomfortable appearing wrought-iron bench.

"Don't you rather wish you didn't have to leave?" Freddie continued.

Peter wriggled his shoulders in an imitation of a shrug. "As marvellous of a time as I've had, Freddie, I do miss home." He grimaced. "I'm not looking forward to going back to Redmond, though."

"Bleak," Freddie agreed lazily, taking the cigarette from between his lips and blowing a thin stream of smoke into the otherwise cloudless sky. "I'll be heading back to Oxford, myself."

"You poor rich aristocrat," Peter jeered good-naturedly. "Have you any idea what I'd give to be able to attend Oxford?"

"Well, why don't you?" Freddie asked.

"Be serious," Peter answered good-naturedly, though with a bit of bitterness in his voice. It was all very well, he thought, for Freddie to talk. Freddie had never had to struggle for anything in his life. No, it was all handed to him on a silver platter—and the blighter didn't even appreciate it. Oxford, Ellsworth, Jocelyn …

"No, really," Freddie said, sitting up and stubbing out his cigarette. "I wanted to talk to you. Why don't you stay on? You could go to Oxford with me, and we'd have a marvellous time of it. I don't really get on with any of the other chaps in my year—they're all fanatic cricket players, and you know I'm hardly an athlete."

Peter had to agree. Slight, of a somewhat delicate constitution (enhanced, perhaps, by over-coddling by his sister when he was a boy), Freddie's dark eyes and pallid visage were far more suited to his favourite passions of reading and acting, even if his smoking habit hadn't shortened his wind to the point where cricket was nearly impossible.

"And you know I can hardly spend time with the local lads," Freddie continued languidly. "All they want to talk about is which pub serves the best beer, and who's poaching our rabbits—as if I cared. The hunters can have 'em all, for all I care about the blasted things. It's Jack who goes into a wild rage at the poachers."

"Is there a point to all this, Freddie?" Peter asked impatiently. He was quite fond of his friend, but found his airs to be somewhat trying.

"The point, my dear fellow, is that you are the one person whose presence I can tolerate for longer than five minutes at a time, and I think it would be a shame to lose you. You really ought to stay—you're a Britain at heart, however long you've lived in Canada, and you'd fit in here so well."

"Don't be ridiculous, Freddie," Peter said with some asperity, sitting up and facing his friend. "I couldn't leave my family."

"Why not? You're already away most of the year at Redmont, or whatever that little school is called—which you hate, by the by. It's not as if you're still living at home. Besides, you're nineteen, old enough to decide for yourself where you want to live. If you told Patrick and Di you wanted to stay here, they wouldn't stop you."

"Freddie, are you serious?" Peter asked, finally recognizing that the young earl wasn't jesting.

"Of course I am, old boy," Freddie answered, lighting another cigarette.

"Have you talked to Leah and Jack about it?"

"No," Freddie said, staring at him as if he'd gone mad. "Why would I? Ellsworth is mine, to do with as I please—except sell, of course, as I'm tied to the beastly place by law. Leah and Jack have no say in who I invite to stay here. Though," a sly smile curling around his lips, "I rather think Leah wishes she _could_ throw out some of the people I've had down here for house parties—London friends, you know. They don't quite suit her old-world morals. Poor Leah, she doesn't seem to realize times have changed." He raised a thin eyebrow. "Well? How about it?"

Peter rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet. "I'll have to think about it," he said.

Freddie waved an expansive arm. "Of course. Of course. Take as much time as you need—wander over the whole place, if you wish. Just decide before you leave tomorrow morning, won't you? It'll be a beastly nuisance having to ship you back here if you decide you want to come back after you've already reached Canada."

"I'll give you my decision tonight," Peter said with quiet dignity. He turned his back on Freddie and the roses and wandered off in the other direction, toward the less-groomed fields and hedges.

Could he really stay? Did he want to? True, England was everything he had dreamed of for eleven years—but was it _home_? Could it become home? Did he really want to leave Avonlea and Mum and Dad and Polly and Meggie and everything and everyone he knew and loved?

If Freddie were different, perhaps the choice would be easier. But the young aristocrat's affectations were terribly bothersome to Peter. His bored attitude, his casual taking for granted everything he had by privilege, his sneering manner toward those he thought "beneath" him … even his incessant smoking irritated Peter, who had been raised with the strictest attention to hygiene and health. Freddie contemptuously tossed aside everything he didn't agree with as "old-fashioned" and "passé."

"Times have changed, my dear," was his amused response to anything Leah tried to remonstrate with him about.

"Maybe times have changed," Peter said to himself, "But morality and manners haven't."

"Talking to yourself?" A rich, amused female voice interrupted his thoughts. Peter looked up to see a dark-haired young woman watching him with dancing hazel eyes. "They say that's the first sign of madness, you know." She hopped off the fence where she'd been perched and faced him, hands tucked away in her dungarees, her hair ruffled by the wind. "Are you going mad, Peter?"

Peter shrugged, trying to ignore the strange feeling that always overcame him when talking to her. She was Freddie's girl, he reminded himself yet again. "Maybe I am," trying to sound as carefree as she. "I've been offered the chance of a lifetime, and all I can think of are reasons why not to do it."

"Ah, I see our Freddie's made his proposal."

"You knew?"

"My dear boy, Freddie tells me everything. So what are you going to do? Stay, and be caught up in Freddie's world of glamour and games? Become a lazy, uninteresting bore like the rest of Freddie's crowd? Or return home to relative obscurity and peace in little Avonlea?"

"I wouldn't become like Freddie," Peter said sharply, then flushed. "I didn't mean that; I meant."

Her rich laugh floated out again. "Yes, you did. Peter, dear, you're not fooling me. I know what Freddie's like, and I accept him as he is. I just would hate to see you end up the same way. You have far too many brains to waste them like he is."

"Again, what makes you think that I would waste them by staying here? Wouldn't going to Oxford help my brains?"

"Not if you go with Freddie," she said simply. "He has a strange influence over people—he annoys you now, but after a few months in his company, you'd get sucked into his way of living. You won't be able to help it."

"You seem to be able to escape his influence," Peter said, nettled at her assumption that he wouldn't be strong enough to retain his own set of beliefs and standards.

This time she didn't laugh. "Maybe I haven't," she said thoughtfully. "After all, I have agreed to marry him."

Peter flushed again. Even knowing that the marriage was a sure thing, he still hated to hear it referred to—especially as casually as both parties did, as though it was a business contract rather than the joining together of two hearts and lives.

"So you think I should go back to Avonlea?" he asked, partially because he wanted to know her opinion—somehow, having her say she wanted him to stay would have more influence on his decision than anything else—and partially to change the subject.

She shrugged, smiling mischievously. "I think you need to decide that for yourself, Peter Samuels. Don't worry," walking away and laughing at him over her shoulder, "I'm sure you'll make the right choice."

"I wish I could be as sure," Peter breathed, watching her receding figure gloomily. His thoughts turned back to the first day he met her, just a short time after they'd arrived at Ellsworth.

_"Freddie," Peter said, looking out across the fields, "who is that girl?"_

_Freddie laughed without looking. "Peter old boy, we're not in your poky little Avonlea anymore. Do you think I can keep track of all my neighbours? They're all_ _dreadfully boring types, anyway. I prefer to have as little to do with them as possible."_

_"Oh really, Freddie," Leah scolded him gently. "What kind of an attitude is that?"_

_Freddie heaved a dramatic sigh. "Very well, sister dear, to please you, I will look and ascertain if it is one of our less-boring neighbours, and I will then proceed to speak warmly of all the country virtues."_

_Polly giggled, but Peter noticed that Di looked disappointed. Freddie leaned forward and looked out the car window at the rapidly vanishing figure._

_"Ah," he said. "It appears to be Jocelyn."_

_"Who is Jocelyn?" Di asked._

_Leah answered. "Jocelyn Reed. The Reeds live only a few miles away. We've always been close."_

_"I confess, sister, that the Reeds are the one family I can tolerate here," Freddie said graciously. "Old Mr. Reed is a decent chap, amusing in his way and Jocelyn … well, is Jocelyn."_

_"She's a dear," Leah said warmly._

_Nothing more was said on the subject at the time, but Peter's mind stayed on Miss Jocelyn Reed to a degree that surprised him. He'd only seen her from a distance, but something about her carriage—so slender, but so stalwart, striding across the fields in trousers, her head carried high, her arms swinging free—captured his imagination. He asked Freddie more about her the moment they were alone._

_"Oh yes, Jocelyn is a nice enough girl," Freddie said dismissively. "Terribly strong-minded, you know, and frightfully independent—always ticking a fellow off—but she's pretty enough, and far better to talk to than most around here." He stretched his long legs out and folded his arms behind his head. "As a matter of fact, she and I—well, we have an understanding of sorts."_

_"An understanding?" Peter asked._

_Freddie yawned. "We're supposed to get married in a few years."_

_Peter felt as though his friend had just struck him in the chest. "Married?"_

_"Mm. There's always been an unspoken agreement between the families—the Reeds aren't aristocracy, but old Mr. Reed—Jocelyn's grandfather—was some sort of squire or something, so she's quite acceptable that way. Leah was engaged to her uncle once, before the chap got himself killed in the War, and so when Jocelyn and I came along, it seemed natural for us to be married."_

_"But—do you want to?"_

_Freddie shrugged and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "If I have to get married, it might as well be to Jocelyn as anyone else. But I mean to enjoy myself for a good long while first." He grinned wickedly._

_Peter didn't say anything more, but the image of that upright figure walking across the fields stayed in his mind like a flame. _

_It seemed only natural, then, when, while out walking after dinner, getting a feel for the land, feeling all his English blood rise up in an overwhelming surge of joy, that he should meet her._

_"Peter Samuels, I presume?" she said._

_He liked her voice at once. It was deeper than many women's, but well-suited to her, rich and full of warm joy. "At your service," he answered grandly._

_"Oh how boring," she said in disappointment. "Why should I want your service? What can you possibly do for me that I can't do for myself?"_

_"I—er—ah …" Peter stammered, and she laughed._

_"I am sorry. That was rather horrid of me, when you were just trying to be polite." She held out her hand. "Jocelyn Reed."_

_"I know," Peter said, shaking her hand, absently noting that it was small but well-formed with tapering fingers and smooth skin. He added on an impulse he could hardly explain, "Freddie's girl."_

_She tossed her head, sending her smooth hair rippling over her head. "My own person, first and foremost," proudly. "But yes, I am engaged to Freddie, I suppose."_

_"You suppose?"_

_She shrugged. "Oh, I know. I just prefer to not think about it." She tucked her arm companionably through his. "Come; tell me all about yourself and Canada, and that charming little village you live in. Freddie told me about it—in his drawling supercilious way, all about 'poor old Peter,' but I want to hear your thoughts on it."_

_Peter wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but she looked up into his confused face and laughed again. "We are going to be friends in the end, Peter Samuels, so I see no need to start off all awkward and proper. After all, we two know Freddie for who he is—the only ones who do, for Leah spoils him and pretends he's still her baby brother, and Jack growls at him and writes him off as a failure, and his companions—for I won't degrade the word by calling them friends—haven't enough brains between them to think about anything. So we already have that in common, and I think," looking at him keenly, "that you love this land almost as much as I do. So that's another bond." She pulled her arm out of his and faced him boldly, her head going back like a thoroughbred's. "So, shall we be friends?"_

_Peter smiled slowly. "Yes, Miss Jocelyn Reed, I rather think we shall."_

_"Good." She took his arm again, and they walked on._

Peter shook his head. Dwelling on Jocelyn wasn't going to help him make a decision. Now he needed to think about facts: the benefits and drawbacks to staying.

He would certainly receive a better education at Oxford than he would at Redmond—but could he really get in? It was all very well for Freddie, but Peter was by no means certain he could pass the examinations. Besides, if Jocelyn was right—curse it, why did he keep thinking of her?—his education would actually suffer under Freddie's influence.

He loved England. It was his true home, in a way Canada could never be. But he loved Canada too, in a different way. Echo Lodge—how would he feel if he never saw it again, that little old house that drew him so strangely? He'd even told Jocelyn about it, and she declared that it sounded like the dearest place she'd ever heard of.

And then there was his family. Little Meggie—if he came over to England for good, how much would she have changed by the time he saw her again? And Polly—she needed his common sense to help steady her at this age when her head was full of romance and girlish dreams. How would she fare with only Bran to help guide her?

And there was Bran himself. His heart was in Wales as surely as Peter's was in England. Could Peter really take the opportunity to fulfil his dream while denying his brother the same chance? Because Peter knew that Mum and Dad couldn't afford to send Bran to Wales.

Mum and Dad … suddenly it all came clear to Peter. All the sacrifices they had made, all the love they had shown … taking him in when he knew perfectly well nobody else wanted him (Polly, yes, but not him) … scrimping and pinching to give both him and Bran the best education available … never once treating him like anything but their own son, the "son of their heart," as Di had called him once …

How could he repay them by treating all their love and sacrifice as worthless, by turning his back on their devotion to take Freddie's offer? He knew they'd never say anything, but he could see the disappointment in his mum's eyes every time she looked at Freddie. She'd loved him, too, as surely as she had every orphan who had come under her care, and Peter could tell she was sorrowful at the way he had turned out. What would it do to her to know that her own son was turning her back on the principles she'd tried to instil in him to dabble in Freddie's world of excitement and moral reprehensibility? To be lured in by the bright promise of Oxford … only to find it all fool's gold in the end. No, Peter could not do that to her.

He walked briskly back to the house, spotting Freddie on the veranda on his way inside.

"Freddie," he said abruptly. "I'm not staying. I'm going back to Avonlea."

Freddie blew out a smoke ring before answering. "You're a dashed fool," he said.

Peter grinned. "Probably. But I'd rather be a fool than an idiot who wastes all my time smoking and trying to shock my sister and impress people I don't give cents for. Why don't you grow up, Freddie?"

He swept past his startled friend inside, where he himself was startled by the sight of Godwin grinning broadly.

"What?" he asked the little boy.

Godwin shrugged, chuckling to himself as he peered past Peter at his uncle, still standing like a stature, the cigarette burning his fingers.

Bran appeared from the shadows. "I like that," he complained. "I've tried for two months to get him to laugh without any success, and you manage to do it without even trying. If I knew that all it took was telling off Freddie, I would have done it weeks ago."

Peter laughed and threw his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Let's go eat," he suggested. "I'm about ready for my last English dinner, aren't you? It's Canada and good old P.E.I. for us after this, my boy."


	20. A Disastrous Expedition

Meggie wriggled slightly in excitement, causing her father to look at her and laugh softly.

"Patience, my Meggie," he whispered to her. "Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy will be here soon enough."

Meggie smiled. "I know," she whispered back. "I just can't wait to see them!"

Shirley squeezed her shoulders and looked out over the assembled crowd. "I can't wait until I can politely excuse myself," he said under his breath, but Meggie heard him.

She felt bad for Papa, but for herself was thrilled to see everyone again. The Blythe family reunion was later than usual this summer, due to Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick's England trip. The leaves were just starting to think about turning; most of the young fry were dreading their return to school; and Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken were leaving the Island in a week. Autumn was approaching, though not quite there yet, and Ingleside was bursting at the seams with people.

Grandmother detached herself from the throng and drew near, her grey eyes sparkling vivaciously. "Well!" she said with girlish enthusiasm. "How good it is to have a full house again. Did you know, Shirley, that Jem and Faith have been talking about finding a place of their own? 'We've imposed on you and Dad long enough,' Jem told us. 'This was only supposed to be a temporary measure in the beginning, and now look at how long we've been here! It's time you and Dad had some privacy.'"

"So when are they leaving?" Shirley asked.

"They aren't," Grandmother said with satisfaction. "I told Jem that it would break our hearts to not have children around the house anymore. As if any of you could be an imposition! I'd love to keep you all here all the time, if I could."

Meggie felt Papa shudder, and Grandmother must have seen the change in his expression, for she laughed again. "I know that wouldn't suit you, my reticent son," she teased him gently, "but an old woman must be allowed her follies."

Meggie hugged Grandmother impulsively. "You aren't old, Grandmother," she said indignantly. "I don't believe you are any older than Polly and Lily at heart."

Grandmother hugged her back tenderly. "Perhaps not at heart, but I certainly feel my years these days," she said with a sigh and a laugh. "There now child, run and play with your cousins. I'm going to have a nice talk with your Papa before he disappears and I don't see anything else of him for the rest of the weekend."

Meggie beamed at them both and skipped off, leaving them comfortably ensconced in the corner. She didn't stop to talk to anyone for long, but wandered through the house and garden, enjoying seeing all the family together … Aunties Nan and Di talking over cups of tea in the kitchen, Auntie Di telling her enthralled twin all about England … Aunt Rilla and Aunt Una (how glad Meggie was she didn't have to worry about Aunt Una becoming her new mama anymore! She shook her head a little over how silly she had been when she was only ten) laughing together on the back porch … Uncles Ken, Jerry, and Jem discussing European affairs with serious faces … Polly and Lily gushing over Polly's photographs of England (and Freddie), with Dee hanging on their every word … Bran and Jane talking seriously in the garden (Bran had insisted, that as Jane was an honorary cousin, she deserved to accompany them to the reunion) … Aunt Faith and Uncle Carl walking arm in arm off toward Rainbow Valley …

Meggie paused in her meanderings. Where were all the boys? Except for Bran, none of the boy cousins were to be seen. After a moment, she shrugged. No doubt they were somewhere around. She felt a little bereft, though, not knowing where Matty was. Not that they had to spend every moment together, but still … she liked to have an idea of where he was.

"Hello, Meggie," said a soft voice near her ear.

Meggie jumped. "Oh, Johnny! How you startled me." She smiled down at her cousin's shadowed face. "I was just wondering where all you boys were," she continued gaily.

Johnny's face darkened yet more. "I don't know," he said roughly. "They all went off without me."

"Oh," Meggie said softly, wishing she knew what to say.

Johnny threw his head up defiantly. "Not that I care," he said. "Not like I want to spend time with them anyway."

Meggie took his hand. "Well, I'm glad you're here," she said simply. "Now you can help me watch for Uncle Bruce."

"I don't like Uncle Bruce," Johnny scowled.

"Oh, Johnny!" Meggie said in horror. "Whyever not?"

The sullen boy shrugged. "He talks like a book," he said. "I never know what he really means. Besides, I'm always afraid he's going to ask me to recite a verse of the Bible. Our minister in Ottawa does that—just comes up and without even saying 'hello' snaps out, 'what is Psalm 17:3? Quickly, now!' And of course, I never know it, and then he scolds me for not studying my Bible."

Meggie stifled a laugh. "I don't think Uncle Bruce would ever do that. He's much too …" she searched for the appropriate word "…_sympathetic_ for that. I think you'd like him if you got to know him better, Johnny. I used to be afraid of him," she confided, "but that was before I really knew him. And Aunt Betsy is just darling."

Looking at her happy face, Johnny relented. "Well, I'll wait with you, but I doubt I'll change my mind. Most people—except for you, Matty, and Uncle Shirley—I like _less_ the more I get to know them, not more."

To Meggie, who found all people interesting and likeable, whether they really were or not, this idea seemed close to blasphemy, but she wisely said nothing, simply squeezing Johnny's hand as they walked down to the gate so they would be the first to see their young uncle and aunt.

* * *

Unbeknownst to them, Shirley and Grandmother watched them go.

"I'm glad to see that Johnny has forged a friendship with your two," Grandmother said. "I worry about that boy."

"So do I," Shirley responded quietly.

"Not that I think Nan is a poor mother, by any stretch of the imagination, but I just don't think she knows quite what to do with Johnny … he's so different from both Blythe and Dee, and Nan and Jerry themselves." Grandmother sighed. "I guess there's always one child who gets overlooked. I'm afraid you, my beloved Shirley, could have ended up like Johnny had not dear Susan mothered you the way she did. Your siblings were all so lively … in your quietness, you easily could have been neglected."

"I never felt neglected," Shirley assured her. "I preferred to be on my own. And I never felt any lack of love from you or Dad."

"I'm glad," Grandmother said. "I've always felt a bit guilty over your childhood."

"Don't," Shirley told her sincerely. "I have no bitterness in any of my memories."

Grandmother patted his hand. "Good." She turned her eyes to where Johnny and Meggie had sat cross-legged on the grass beside the open gate. "I only hope poor Johnny will be able to say the same when he grows up."

Shirley didn't reply, but he rather doubted it—and looking at his mother's face, he saw that she doubted it, too.

* * *

Unaware of the adults' conversation, Meggie and Johnny sat quietly, both thinking their own thoughts, neither needing to speak. Meggie was thinking that, as much as she did love getting together with all her family, it_ was_ rather nice just to sit apart from everything and be still. Johnny was thinking how unfair it was that at the end of the weekend, Meggie and Matty would get to return to Green Gables and he would have to return to Ottawa … to the school he loathed, to the family where he didn't belong, and to the life he hated.

"Well now, and what are you two doing?" came a merry voice, breaking into their introspection.

"Hello, Granddad," Meggie said happily. "Did you fix Mrs. Clow's leg?"

Granddad made a face. "As best I could. This is the third time she's broken it this year. One of these days it just won't mend, but will she take my advice and slow down?" He shook his grey head. "Well, never mind that. Why are you two sitting here instead of off getting into trouble with the rest of the young fry?"

Johnny flinched, but Meggie answered serenely. "We're waiting for Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy."

"Ah," said Granddad, his eyes twinkling youthfully. "Well, you're in luck. As I passed by the manse, they were just coming out the door. In fact," turning his head slightly, "I believe that's them now."

Meggie sprang to her feet. "Uncle Bruce!" she cried happily, running down the road, followed slowly and unwillingly by Johnny.

Uncle Bruce laughed and swung the little girl up easily into his arms. "Well, well, my dear Joanna," he said, kissing her cheek. "You haven't forgotten all about your old uncle in a year?"

"Never," Meggie said gaily as he set her back down and Aunt Betsy in turn swept her into a hug.

Uncle Bruce sized Johnny up with one glance and, instead of hugging him or ruffling his hair the way he would any of his other nephews, the young minister gravely held out his hand. "And I understand you have been a great help to Shirley this year, young man," he said.

Johnny shook his hand awkwardly, mumbling something under his breath. "Oh yes," Meggie piped up. "We never could have made it without Johnny—both last winter and this summer. He's been wonderful." She smiled bewitchingly at her cousin, who flushed to the roots of his hair and didn't even attempt to answer that.

"I'm glad to hear it," Uncle Bruce said. "You do the family proud, John."

There again, he knew just how to set the boy apart by using his given name rather than the family nickname. Johnny stood up a little straighter, carried his head a little higher, felt himself to be just a bit more of a man, simply by the use of his name.

"Well," said Aunt Betsy, catching hold of both children's hands and swinging their arms. "Shall we go inside and greet everyone, or should we play truant for a bit and make a dash down to the shore first?"

"Oh, the shore!" Meggie cried. "Everyone will want to talk to you once we get inside, and then Johnny and I won't have any more chances to see you."

"Very true," agreed Uncle Bruce. "Sir," he called to Dr. Blythe, who was still standing by the gate watching them, "Would you make our excuses to everyone inside? We'll be back in time for supper."

Granddad bowed solemnly. "I will tell them important business took you away temporarily," he said.

"Many thanks!" Aunt Betsy called, as Uncle Bruce grabbed Johnny's free hand and the four went off in a mad dash toward the shore, tripping over roots and stones and laughing joyously all the way.

"Goodness!" Aunt Betsy said, shading her eyes with one hand and gazing out over the vast expanse of water. "A storm must be coming in. Look at how rough the water is."

Uncle Bruce winked at the other two. "Isn't she a wonder?" he said proudly. "She's only been here for a year and already she can tell the weather by the sea."

"Oh honestly, Bruce," Aunt Betsy laughed. "It isn't that difficult when the wind is whipping the waves like this and the sky is turning cloudy." She frowned suddenly. "Is that a fishing boat I see out there?" pointing to a small skiff a good ways out. "Isn't it dangerous for them to be out when things are this violent?"

"Don't worry," Uncle Bruce reassured her. "The fishermen in these parts know their craft too well to be caught out in a storm. There—see? They're starting to come back …" his voice trailed off as he leaned forward. "They don't seem to be handling their boat well," he said with concern. "I wonder if it's leaking?"

Meggie gasped. The boat, now obviously floundering in the water, had come close enough for her to make out the outlines of the four figures frantically working in it: one with black hair, one with dark brown, one golden brown, and one very familiar …

"It's Matty!" she cried. "Matty and the cousins!"

Uncle Bruce muttered something un-ministerial under his breath. "Those young fools," he said tightly. "Are they trying to get themselves killed?"

"What should we do?" Aunt Betsy asked crisply. "Is there another boat we can take out to help them?"

Uncle Bruce shook his head. "No good. I don't know enough about boats myself—we'd be in the same place. No, we'd best just watch and wait and hope they make it—and you and I, John, had better be prepared to go in after them if the boat goes under."

Meggie gasped softly. Johnny nodded grimly and took off his shoes with a business-like air, standing beside Uncle Bruce without a word. Aunt Betsy surprised them by doing the same.

"I can swim as well as anyone," she declared. "Meggie, if they do go down, you must run back to Ingleside as fast as you can for help."

Meggie nodded, her eyes wide and miserable. "Yes, ma'am," she whispered, fixing her gaze on Matty as though she could bring him into shore safely by strength of will alone.

The boys, Gilly in charge, were doing their best to keep their little craft under control and bring it in, but not only did they have the wind fighting against them, the boat itself was poorly crafted, the sides cracking under the pressure and the bottom boards separating. Still, the watchers thought they just might pull it off—even if they didn't quite make it all the way, if they could get close enough they could swim to shore.

Then Walt, looking up from bailing, noticed them and completely lost his head. He leapt to his feet, waving his arms wildly. There was a simultaneous gasp from the four on shore as Gilly grabbed at him, missed, and both went overboard.

"Now!" shouted Uncle Bruce, and he and Johnny plunged in the water.

The strain of the rocking the boat underwent as two of its crew vanished over the side proved too much for it, and it came apart completely, submerging both Matty and Blythe. Meggie screamed at the sight of her twin disappearing into the stormy depths.

"Run, Meggie!" Aunt Betsy commanded, following her husband into the water.

Blindly, Meggie turned and obeyed, fleeing wildly, hoping against hope she would find help close by.

"Please God—oh please," she gasped, having no time or breath for anything more.

"Meggie!"

She halted, looking thankfully at Bran and Jane, who had abandoned the garden for the shore.

"What on earth …?" Jane asked in amazement, seeing her terror-filled face.

"The boys—down there—oh hurry, hurry," Meggie begged incoherently. "They're drowning!"

Bran uttered a sharp exclamation and tore off in the direction indicated. Jane paused but a moment before following him.

"Get to the house and tell them to prepare warm drinks and blankets, and tell the doctors to come as quickly as possible!" she ordered.

Meggie nodded dumbly, filled her lungs with air, and she and Jane ran in opposite directions.

She cut through the fields and woods in her hurry, never noticing the drops of rain that fell on her head, presaging the storm Aunt Betsy had predicted. All she could think of was that Matty—and the others—might die if she didn't get help in time. She stumbled to her knees and rose up again without even feeling the scrapes on her legs.

"Oh Matty—Matty!" she sobbed breathlessly.


	21. Aftermath

The adults seated comfortably inside Ingleside, enjoying the comfort of a fire against the sudden storm that had picked up outside, were startled to see a filthy, bleeding, dripping wet creature burst into the house.

Shirley sprang to his feet. "Meggie!" he said, and a world of dread was in that one word.

Meggie doubled over, gasping for breath. "Hurry," she pled. "The shore—the boys—their boat fell apart—Uncle Bruce said—bring help."

"The boys?" Grandmother said into the startled hush.

"Matty—Blythe—Walt—Gilly," Meggie said, still trying to catch her breath. "Oh hurry, hurry!"

Shirley, his face deathly white, sprang past her without a word and tore off into the rain. Uncles Jerry, Patrick, and Carl followed. Uncle Jem only paused long enough to say to his wife:

"Bring blankets and follow as soon as you can. Those boys will be half frozen with cold and shock."

Aunt Faith nodded and swept up the stairs to the linen closet.

As the door shut behind Uncle Jem, the spell of silence that had held the rest of them in place vanished. Auntie Nan screamed, "My boy, my boy!" and collapsed into a huddle on the couch. Dee, not quite fully comprehending what was happening, followed her mother's example. Both Polly and Lily began to cry. Aunt Rilla said numbly, "I must call Kenneth; he had to go into town for a story," and vanished into the kitchen. Aunt Una followed Aunt Faith for the blankets.

"We'll take the car down," Auntie Di said decisively. "That will be the best way to get them back here in good season. Mother, will you put the kettle on? We'll want to get hot drinks into them. Faith," for Una and Faith were downstairs again, their arms full of enough blankets to cover a dozen boys, "I'll drive. Father …"

Granddad was bending over the one figure nobody had noticed since she delivered her news. "I will take care of this child," he said grimly, lifting the limp Meggie in his arms. "She's fainted from sheer exhaustion and terror."

Auntie Di's face twitched, but she kept her composure. "Polly," she said sharply. "Pull yourself together, child, there's work to be done. Help your grandmother in the kitchen. Lily, see to your Auntie Nan. Dee …" she paused, seeing that the child was working herself into hysterics.

Aunt Faith, passing through, her face set, freed one arm from its load and slapped Dee smartly on the cheek. "We have no time for this," she said crisply as Dee gulped down a sob and looked at her in shock.

With that, the three women swept out the door, Granddad carried his load upstairs to the spare room, Grandmother and Polly began to boil water, and Lily set about the difficult task of calming her distraught aunt and cousin.

* * *

Meggie opened her eyes wonderingly. Why was she in bed while the sun shone so brightly? Surely she couldn't have overslept that much. And why were her legs so sore? And her hands?

The little girl held the last-mentioned objects up and gasped. White bandages enclosed them entirely. What had happened?

Someone, alerted by her gasp, moved out of the shadowy corner of the room. Meggie turned her head to see Aunt Betsy smiling down at her.

"Well, it's good to see you awake," she said briskly. "Your grandfather said"—

Meggie, for the first time in her life, rudely interrupted an elder as her memory flooded back. "The boys! Matty!" she cried. "Are they all right?"

Aunt Betsy laid a soothing hand on her forehead. "They are just fine, thanks in part to your run, little Joanna. Bran and Jane came in time to help us pull them out, and the rest showed up to help us pump the water out of them and get them back here. You're a heroine, my dear."

Meggie couldn't quite relax. "They're really all right? All of them?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, all of them," Aunt Betsy reassured her. "Even Gilly, who swallowed a great deal of water trying to keep Walt's head above water before we got to him. They are all resting themselves, and as soon as your grandfather says you can get up, you can go see them."

Meggie sighed in relief. "I was so scared," she said in a trembling voice.

"We all were," Aunt Betsy said gravely. "But you didn't give into your fear, and that's what is most important. Now," smiling again, "You rest here while I fetch your grandfather and tell him you're awake."

"You called me Joanna," Meggie said suddenly. "Like Uncle Bruce. You used to call me Meggie."

Aunt Betsy paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Well, I suppose Meggie is a name I would associate with a little girl. Your bravery yesterday was far more than a little girl would give."

With that, she went out of the room.

"Yesterday?" Meggie wondered. Had she really been asleep that long?

Granddad entered, his broad smile covering his intense relief at Meggie's recovery. "Well, you look considerably better than you did when I brought you up here, my dear. How do you feel?"

"Confused," Meggie answered frankly. "Aunt Betsy says this is tomorrow—that is …" she paused, flustered.

Granddad laughed heartily. "So it is. You fainted, child, and wouldn't wake up, despite our best efforts." He didn't mention his worry over her pale face as he worked on her, leaving the boys to Jem's expert care, or Shirley's tight-lipped fear as he went from one bedside to the other, a fear of losing both his beloved children in one tragic accident.

"I_fainted_?" Meggie asked wonderingly. "I don't remember."

"Well, you ran quite the race. You must have fallen a few times, judging by the scrapes on your arms and legs." Granddad sat down at the edge of the bed. "But we finally got you sleeping comfortably, and now I would say there's absolutely nothing wrong with you that a few days of rest won't fix completely."

"May I get up and see Matty?" Meggie asked eagerly.

Granddad patted her hand. "Of course. Just don't go running around Rainbow Valley quite yet," he told her with his old teasing smile.

Meggie smiled back. "I won't," she promised.

Aunt Betsy came back in to help her dress—Meggie was a bit surprised at how weak she really did feel—and then led her down the hall to Matty's room. A lean, brown figure was seated by the boy's bed, watching him intently.

"Papa?" Meggie whispered.

Shirley turned. Rising quickly, he came across the room in two strides and crushed Meggie in his arms. When she had been lying helplessly in that bed, her face so white, her eyes closed, all he had been able to see was her mother's last days, spent in much the same manner. The fear he had felt was like nothing he had ever experienced—never, not while flying in the War, not while asking Paul Irving for Cecily's hand in marriage, not even while saying goodbye to his beloved wife.

He had begged God to spare his children—both of them—and even now, while holding his darling daughter in his arms, he couldn't quite believe they were both safe.

Meggie squirmed. "Papa, I can't breathe."

Fighting to control his emotions, Shirley released her. "Is Matty really all right?" she asked, looking at the still bed.

"I'm fine," Matty himself answered. "Uncle Jem just won't let me up until tomorrow." He sounded thoroughly disgruntled.

"You should be thankful you can get up at all," Shirley said severely. "You boys were very, very lucky."

"I know, Papa," Matty said penitently. "It was a stupid idea from the beginning. I'll never do it again."

"You may be certain of that," Shirley said gruffly. "If you even so much as look at a boat without an adult nearby for the next ten years, I'll tan your hide so hard you won't know what to do with yourself."

Meggie looked at her father in surprise. He rarely scolded them, and never had he so much as threatened to spank them. She had never heard him speak so harshly.

"Yes, sir," Matty said, subdued.

"Well," Shirley said, his manner softening slightly, "I'll let the two of you be. Meggie, I'll take you downstairs when you're ready. Your grandmother has tea waiting for you."

"Yes, Papa," Meggie said. Her father paused a moment, looking at the two of them, and then bent and hugged them both in one swift move.

"My God!" he said hoarsely. "What would I have done without you?" He straightened and, as if embarrassed by his show of emotion, brushed his hand across his eyes and left the room quickly.

The twins looked at each other. "He was really angry," Matty said quietly. "Once Uncle Jem told him I was all right, he scolded me so much … I've never seen him like that."

"You scared us all dreadfully," Meggie said, sitting down on the bed. "What happened? Tell me from the beginning."

There wasn't much to tell. Gilly and Walt had been building a boat in secret all summer long, and figured this particular weekend would be their last chance to test it. Gilly asked Blythe to join them first, and then Walt invited Matty. The only stipulation was that it must be kept secret.

"The grown-ups will say it isn't safe," said Gilly scornfully. "They won't believe that we can make something that _works_."

Both other boys thought it sounded like grand fun, and went along eagerly.

"I wanted Johnny to come, too," Matty told his sister, "But the others wouldn't agree. Blythe said he would be no fun, and Gilly said the boat would only hold four anyway." He paused. "You know that Johnny was the one who pulled Blythe out, all on his own? It took at least two each for the rest of us, but Johnny just kept at it—almost went down himself a few times—and got him out." He shook his head in amazement.

"Yes, but go on," Meggie said impatiently.

"Well, so we went out, and it was grand fun at first, until Gilly noticed the clouds rolling in and the waves picking up. He said we'd better get back, and that was when everything went wrong."

The boat, contrary to the boys' beliefs, was _not_ safe, and began to come apart as soon as it was under stress. Matty and Walt were bailing, while Gilly and Blythe tried to row back to shore, but it was a losing battle from the beginning.

"And then," Matty continued, "Walt saw you all, and …" he trailed off.

"I saw that part," Meggie said with a shudder, thinking she would never forget the horror of seeing her brother vanish under that cold, cruel sea.

"Anyway," Matty resumed, "I was trying to just keep my head above water when Aunt Betsy reached me. She kept me afloat until Uncle Bruce and Bran pulled Walt to shore, and then Bran helped her bring me in while Uncle Bruce and Jane did the same with Gilly. I don't remember much after that—just a lot of noise and cold and dark, and then somehow we were in Uncle Patrick's car with Aunt Faith winding us in blankets, and then we were here."

Meggie shivered. "Thank goodness we went to the shore," she said, her voice faltering. "We almost didn't … if nobody had known where you were …" she couldn't finish.

"I know." Matty's face was grim. "Like I told Papa, it was a stupid, stupid idea." He didn't say what he was thinking, which was that his foolishness had injured his sister as well as himself. That was something for which he would never, ever forgive himself.

Meggie sat silently, thinking only of how glad she was they all were safe.


	22. The Advent of Cecily

"You two," said Shirley, entering Green Gables with the mail one crisp October afternoon, "have been invited for a visit."

"A visit?" Meggie wondered, looking up from her sewing. She was working on a quilted wall hanging in blue and white for Grandmamma Irving as a Christmas present, and thus far having a dreadful time of it. She was more than happy to set it aside to listen to her Papa as he continued:

"I just received a letter from Bruce and Betsy. Seems they're hosting a harvest party for all the young fry of the Presbyterian Church, and they would like you two to come down and stay with them for a week so you can attend as well."

"A whole week?" Meggie asked. She loved the idea of visiting Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy, but … an entire week away from Green Gables and Papa seemed like an awfully long time.

"We couldn't leave you alone for that long," Matty said immediately, echoing his twin's thoughts.

Shirley grinned good-naturedly. "Am I really so feeble that the two of you think I can't survive on my own for a few days?"

"Do you want us to go, Papa?" Meggie asked.

Shirley raised one eyebrow. "I want you two to do what you want, without thought for me or anyone else. Would you enjoy spending a week in Glen St. Mary?"

The twins exchanged a glance, and Meggie spoke for both. "I'd like to spend_some_ time there, Papa … especially staying with Uncle Bruce." Somehow, being invited to the manse was even more special than going to Ingleside—perhaps because it had never happened before, and so had more of the hallmarks of a "real" visit. "But I don't know if I want to be gone for an entire week."

"Maybe just three or four days," Matty agreed.

Shirley nodded. "Fair enough. I'll send back word that you'll be down next Thursday. The party is Saturday evening, and I'll come fetch you Sunday after church. How does that sound?"

"Splendid," Meggie said in satisfaction. Matty nodded his agreement.

"Good. Meggie, when your aunt comes tomorrow for your lessons, let her know that you two will be gone part of next week."

"Are we ever going to go back to regular school, Papa?" Matty asked curiously.

Shirley paused. "Why? Do you feel your aunt isn't giving you enough teaching?"

"No," Matty answered. "I don't mind, really … I was just wondering."

Shirley's face was grave as he replied. "I do not want you ever to be exposed to the kind of abuse you endured under Miss Craig. She may have claimed to be changed—certainly the other trustees are more impressed with her this year—but I still do not want to take that chance. As long as she is teaching at the Avonlea school, you will not be attending."

Meggie said nothing, but she was glad. Deep down, she was still afraid of Miss Craig. The harsh treatment she had received at the woman's hands had left scars buried in her soul. She wasn't bitter toward her (Meggie simply didn't have it in her to be bitter to anyone), but she was afraid of what else might happen if Miss Craig was her teacher again.

Besides, she liked taking lessons from Auntie Di. That good woman had a knack for teaching, making most subjects interesting and enjoyable to learn—though mathematics were still the bane of Polly's existence, as was geography for Meggie.

Thinking of Polly, Meggie piped up, "Is Polly invited too, Papa?"

"Not to my knowledge, but …" the opening of the door behind him interrupted Shirley, revealing Polly herself, cheeks crimson with cold, looking darling in her new fall coat of forest-green broadcloth.

"Oh Meggie," she cried, nearly dancing with excitement. "Wait until you hear! Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy are holding a harvest party at their church, and Lily has invited me to come stay with her for the weekend so I can attend! She said you could come too, if you wanted. Oh Meggie, _do_ come; it'll be perfectly delightful."

Meggie laughed impishly. "I'm afraid I already have an engagement," she said, dropping her lids to hide her laughing eyes.

Shirley coughed suddenly into his hand and vanished into the kitchen, leaving the three children alone.

Polly's face fell. "Oh _no_," she said in disappointment. "Can't you break it?"

Meggie looked properly shocked. "That would be rude," she said primly, at which Matty dived behind his book to hide his face.

"Well, who is it with? What for?" Polly asked.

Meggie couldn't hold in her giggles any longer. "With Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy. They want Matty and me to come stay with them for the party."

"Oh, you!" Polly picked up a sofa pillow and hurled it at Meggie. "So you're really going to be there? Both of you?"

"Yep," Matty said, emerging from behind his book with a red face.

Polly mock-glared at him. "Are you laughing? That was _not_ funny. I was very upset!"

Matty grinned.

Polly relented and laughed herself. "I never would have expected that from _you_, Meggie," she said.

"I don't know what came over me," Meggie confessed. "It just seemed the thing to do at the time."

"Well anyway," Polly said, "I'm glad we're all going to be there. It wouldn't seem right without you."

"I thought the same thing," Meggie told her.

* * *

Meggie had never "been visiting" before. Oh, she had stayed at Ingleside before, and gone to Boston to see Grandmamma and Grandfather Irving, but never before had she gone somewhere without Papa. Hence, she was slightly nervous as Uncle Bruce picked up her and Matty at Green Gables Thursday morning, but as usual, her uncle soon put her at ease.

"Betsy will be so glad to see you," he told them both. "She's fixed the spare bedroom up for you, Joanna; and Joshua, you'll be in Jerry and Carl's old room. She's been baking and planning and preparing for this party for weeks now—it'll be nice to have you around just to take her mind off things. She wants everything to be a success, and she's half-crazy with fear that it will all fall apart—giving those old Glen cats something else to gossip about." He grinned ruefully at them.

"Uncle Bruce," Matty said, "I don't think ministers are supposed to call their congregations 'old cats.'"

"No?" said Uncle Bruce with a casual air. "You'd be surprised at how many ministers _think_ that, whether they say it or not. I'm just more honest than most. Besides, I don't think you two will tell on me." He winked.

"Uncle Bruce," Matty now asked in his direct manner, "why do you call Meggie and me by our first names?"

Uncle Bruce shrugged, sending the car swerving slightly. "I'm not sure, to tell you the truth. They just seem to fit. Do you mind?"

"I don't," Meggie said at once. "I like it—it makes me feel grown-up."

"I don't mind, but I always have to check to see who you're talking to when you call me Joshua," Matty said. "I only ever think of myself as Matty."

Uncle Bruce chuckled. "Well, I can make an effort to call you Matty if you prefer."

It was Matty's turn to shrug. "Whichever you like. It doesn't make a difference. I suppose I'm still _me_, whatever name I'm called."

"Very true, my young philosopher, very true," Uncle Bruce said gravely. "Our names are a mere reflection of us, not the other way around."

Meggie settled into the seat with a contented sigh. This wasn't going to be so scary after all! Uncle Bruce was just the same as he always was—and even if it was going to be difficult to sleep, knowing that Papa and Green Gables were miles away, she would still have Matty nearby. She could face _anything_ so long as her twin was there by her side.

* * *

Aunt Betsy was, indeed, thrilled to see them. She came swooping out of the manse as soon as they arrived, not even bothering to remove her blue gingham apron.

"I'm so glad you decided to come," she said, placing an arm around each child's shoulders. "And I'm so glad we're having this Harvest Party as an excuse to get you to stay with us! Now, I want you to make yourselves right at home. Don't hesitate to ask us for anything, don't feel as though you have to have 'company manners,' just get comfortable."

"Can I help you with dinner?" Meggie asked at once.

Aunt Betsy clapped her hands together. "You certainly may. Would you mind mixing up a batch of biscuits while I take care of the vegetables and set the table? The chicken's already roasting in the oven."

"I'd love to," Meggie beamed. Somehow, Aunt Betsy's ready acceptance of her offer of help was better than anything polite could have been. This way, she really _did_ feel at home."

The two worked together companionably in the kitchen, while Matty and Uncle Bruce went out to look at the lawn (Uncle Bruce was hoping to somehow make it a more pleasant place to sit or play, and wanted Matty's advice on landscaping). The talk remained light and easy throughout the meal, during which Rev. Meredith emerged from his study, nodded politely to the two young ones, and sat in abstracted silence for the rest of the time.

"Where's Aunt Una?" Meggie asked suddenly.

"She's staying with some sick folks across the harbour," Uncle Bruce answered. "The doctors have given up on them, but Una refuses. She says she'll stay and take care of them until the end."

"But what if she gets sick?" Matty asked practically.

"I doubt she will," Aunt Betsy said. "She's been exposed to more diseases than most doctors in her time in India. If none of them could harm her, I doubt a bad bout of influenza will."

The talk soon turned to church matters, Aunt Betsy discussing the study she was hoping to start among some of the poorer members of the congregation.

"Not that Bruce isn't a marvellous preacher," she said, throwing an affectionate smile at her husband. "But some of these women barely even know how to read. I'm afraid the sermons are sometimes over their heads, and I'd so love to meet with them on a regular basis and really discuss what Bruce preached about that week, so that if they have questions we can answer them, and they can really start to learn and grow."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Meggie said.

Aunt Betsy sighed. "So it would be, but they're all too afraid to try it. Some said their husbands wouldn't like it … some said it would be wrong to study the Bible without the reverend present … some said women shouldn't teach … and some simply prefer ignorance. And one and all are inclined to dislike me because I'm a Yankee! I just don't know how to break down their prejudices."

"Just give it time," Uncle Bruce said. "The more different activities we do, like this Harvest Party, and do well at, the more people will come around and be willing to try our other ideas. It will just take a while for people to accept us and our 'new-fangled notions.'"

"Then I sincerely hope this party _is_ a success," said Aunt Betsy whimsically.

"It will be," Matty assured her. "We'll all do out part to make it so."

"I knew we could count on you," Uncle Bruce said warmly.

Later that night, before going to bed, Meggie slipped down the hall to Matty's room. "Are you awake?" she whispered at the door.

"Yes," he replied.

She went inside and sat on the bed. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know … about everything. This visit, Uncle Bruce, Aunt Betsy … all of it."

"I'm having a good time," he said decidedly. "I'm glad we came. I like the way they treat us as adults—like the dinner conversation. None of our other aunts and uncles would talk like that around us."

"I like that too," Meggie said. "Matty—are you looking forward to the Harvest Party?"

He made a face. "Not really. You know how I feel about crowds. But I'll do what it takes to make Aunt Betsy happy. I won't let her down. Are_you_ looking forward to it?"

"I am," Meggie confessed. "I _like_ people. And I think it will be fun."

Matty grunted. "I hope so."

Meggie rose to her feet. "Good-night, Matty."

"Good-night, Meggie."

* * *

The Harvest Party _was_ fun—even old Kitty Davis, who may have been ancient and mostly deaf but was as vitriolic as ever, had to admit that. All of the Presbyterian young people turned out for it (and even a few of the Methodists, whom Betsy let in with an air of gracious tolerance). Those who wished to wore costumes and were awarded prizes for ingenuity and charm, while those who scorned the thought of "dressing up" (mostly the boys) were by no means made to feel left out. Uncle Bruce organized a lively game of Fox and Hounds outside in the churchyard, to much clucking by the elderly ladies, who supposed, however, as it was the minister in charge, there wasn't much they could do about it; while inside sported such events as bobbing for apples, a flour cake, pumpkin decorating, and other activities.

There was much shrieking and good-natured teasing and rough-housing, but overall everyone seemed to be having a wildly good time.

"What do you think?" Aunt Betsy asked Matty, who had stayed by her side all night, helping in any way he could. "Do you think it's a success?"

"I would guess so," Matty said dryly, watching two small boys race past, whooping with glee.

Aunt Betsy pushed a tendril of hair out of her flushed face. "I'm _so_ glad. I hate to think of the mess we'll have to clean up before services tomorrow, though," she added wryly. "Perhaps we should have made that another game—whoever did the best clean-up wins the prize."

"Don't worry," said Lily, stopping in her path past them. "We'll all help. Oh, bother," she said in annoyance. "Doesn't he ever get tired of following me?" She wriggled past them and disappeared into the crowd, pursued hotly by a thin, wiry boy with pale hair and startlingly light blue eyes.

"Vance Douglas," Aunt Betsy said in response to Matty's inquiring gaze. "He has a 'case' on Lily—poor thing!"

Matty wasn't sure whether she was referring to Lily or Vance, who evidently had no hope of ever winning the girl's affections, but then, he didn't particularly care.

It was a triumphant evening for all the Blythe cousins—Lily won a prize for her costume: she had come dressed as a Gibson Girl, wearing one of Aunt Faith's old dance gowns and doing her hair up in a pompadour. Walt's artistic side showed well in the pumpkin-decorating contest, while Polly distinguished herself as one of the only ones who could slice the flour cake down to the coin without causing it to collapse. Meggie was more than happy to assist with some of the younger children, while Matty, of course, served as Aunt Betsy's right-hand man.

Much, much later that evening, after all the children had gone home, exhausted and happy, and the church and its grounds had been properly prepared for Sunday services, the family retired to the manse for some well-deserved rest. Lily, Polly and Walt came along at Aunt Betsy's insistence to spend the night.

They had settled into the kitchen (which Aunt Betsy insisted was the only true "living room" in any proper house) and were just getting themselves cups of hot cider to "relax them before bed," so Aunt Betsy said, when the door opened and Aunt Una walked in, looking sad and tired and carrying a large bundle in her arms.

"Why, Una!" Aunt Betsy cried. "Wherever did you come from?"

"From the Shelleys'," Aunt Una replied, sitting down with a sigh.

"All the way across the harbour, at this time of night? You should have called me, Una," Bruce reproached.

A glimmer of a smile lit Una's weary face. "I tried. Nobody answered."

"Oh." Uncle Bruce looked abashed, remembering that he had been occupied at the church all evening.

"It's all right," Una continued. "Captain Jake was there, so he gave me a ride over, and I just walked from the harbour."

"Oh Una," Aunt Betsy said. "You must be exhausted."

"Rather," Aunt Una admitted. "But both Kit and Tom passed on this evening, and I couldn't stay there overnight."

"So they passed over at last," Uncle Bruce mused. "May they rest in peace."

"Wasn't there a child?" Aunt Betsy asked. "What happened to it?"

For the first time Meggie could ever remember, Aunt Una looked uncomfortable. "Well, that's why I couldn't stay over," she said. "You see—there was nobody to take the baby, and I couldn't just leave it there with the—with its parents," noticing the children's interested faces. "So I brought it home," she finished abruptly, unwrapping her bundle to reveal a sleeping infant.

"Oh-h-h," chorused Polly and Lily, rushing to their feet to peer at the little face. "Oh, how sweet," Lily said rapturously. "Are you going to keep it, Aunt Una?"

"Una," said Uncle Bruce sternly before his sister could speak. "Are you telling me that you rode in Captain Jake's rickety old boat, and then walked all the way here with _a baby_ in your arms?"

Una looked defiantly at him. "What else could I do, Bruce? Would you have had me leave it there?"

He shook his head helplessly.

"But what are you going to do with it, Una?" Aunt Betsy asked.

"I'll keep it for now," Aunt Una said. "I'll ask around to see if anyone here is looking to adopt a wee one, and if not, I suppose I'll have to send it to Hopetown."

"Oh no," said Polly in dismay. "Not an orphan home, Auntie, they're dreadful!"

"How do you know?" Matty asked her bluntly. "You were only ever in Auntie Di's asylum."

"Yes, but I heard tales from the other orphans," Polly said with dignity. "Besides, even Mum's orphan home was _nothing_ compared to when she and Dad adopted us and we were a real family, living in a real home. Don't send it away, Aunt Una."

Aunt Una raised her eyebrows. "Child, what would you have me do? I can't ask your uncle and aunt and grandfather to put up with an orphan baby."

"Nonsense," Aunt Betsy said briskly, now apparently fully recovered from her initial shock. "Bruce and I wouldn't mind in the slightest, would we, Bruce?"

Uncle Bruce looked as though he _might_ mind, but under his wife's eye he simply shook his head.

"And Grandfather won't even notice," Lily said. "He never notices_anything_."

"So you see, it's really up to you, whether you want to keep it or not," Aunt Betsy concluded, her lips twitching at Lily's candid estimation of Rev. Meredith.

"Please, Aunt Una?" Polly begged.

"Yes, please?" Lily added. "It's been _so_ long since we've had a baby in the family. I'll come help every day if you keep it."

Aunt Una looked at the hopeful faces surrounding her and laughed. "I have to admit, I was dreading taking it to Hopetown," she capitulated. "So long as no family members show up, I suppose I'll keep it."

"Hurrah!" Polly squealed.

"No such luck," Uncle Bruce said grimly. "I know Tom Shelley's relatives of old. They won't lift a finger to help."

Meggie had said nothing through all this, but crept closer and closer to Aunt Una's side, peering down at the little sleeping face. Goodness, how _small_ babies were! This one was all red and wrinkled, with a puckered mouth and scrunched-up features. There was nothing particularly beautiful about it—it was filthy and dressed in rags—but it was still sweet. So utterly helpless …

"Aunt Una," the little girl asked softly. "What's its name?"

Aunt Una looked down at her. "It doesn't have one, dear. It was only born four days ago, you know, and its mother was too ill to name it. What do you think we should call it?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Meggie asked.

"A girl-child," Aunt Una answered.

"Call her Cecily," Meggie suggested shyly. "Name her after my mama."

Aunt Una blinked and cleared her throat. "That's a beautiful idea, Meggie. Cecily it is."

"Cecily Katherine," Aunt Betsy supplemented. "So she never forgets her own mother."

So it was that Cecily Katherine Shelley came to live at the manse, one windy October night.


	23. Meggie's Vow

Little Cecily Katherine—Katy, as she soon became called—grew and thrived in the manse. Both Una and Betsy spoiled and cuddled her, and even Bruce became reconciled to her presence the first day she smiled at him. Rev. Meredith, as predicted by Lily, barely took any note of her at all, even on those nights when her colic kept every other member of the house awake.

Lily adored her new "cousin" and indeed spent every free moment fussing over her. She wrote long letters to Polly, updating her on all Katy's developments. According to Lily, Katy was the most wondrous child the world had ever produced, to which Polly heartily concurred.

Meggie was pleased for the little baby, but she grew weary of Polly's raptures—for that young lady found it necessary, upon receipt of each letter from Lily, to rush over to Green Gables and read it aloud to anyone she found there. Matty and Shirley soon learned to disappear when Polly's copper head came in view, and though Meggie usually loved visits from her cousin, she did wish they could occasionally talk about something _other_ than Baby Katy.

Aside from that, the winter passed smoothly. Peter was much happier, now in his third year at Redmond. He and Blake were still sharing a room, but they had become reconciled to each other's peculiarities.

_Besides_, Peter wrote to Meggie, _ever since going to England this summer, I feel more assured—more comfortable with who I am. So I'm not like all the other fellows. So what? I don't want to be. I'd rather be the best _Peter_ I can be, rather than fuss about trying to be somebody I'm not. I'm not sure what it was about England—whether it was returning to my roots, or coming to the realization that there are far worse things to be than serious and studious, or whether it had to do with the people I met there, but somehow, everything has come into focus._

_Did I ever tell you that Freddie wanted me to stay and go to Oxford with him? I didn't even tell Mum or Dad—but I want you to know, because his offer stirred something in me. I turned him down for many reasons—not least of which is that I don't want to be beholden to anyone for my education, not even my oldest friend._

_But it started me thinking. Do I really want my education to end at Redmond? I know what you'll say—a person never stops learning their entire lives, not unless they want to—but I'm speaking of a formal education. I would like to continue—on my own terms, not on Freddie's. _

_I know there are good schools here in Canada where I could continue even after my bachelor's, but … I'm really thinking I would like to go to Cambridge. In England. I won't do Oxford—that would be insulting to Freddie, to turn it down when he offers only to go myself a couple years later—but I could go to Cambridge without offending him. Ah, Meggie, just think of it! Do you know how many great scholars have come out of Cambridge? Francis Bacon, Milton, Isaac Newton, Tennyson, William Wilberforce … the list goes on and on. To join the ranks of such great men is nearly unthinkable._

_And Meggie … don't tell anyone this, but I could go next year. I really think I could. I've been taking extra classes this term and last, and if I stayed and took a few more this summer, I could graduate early. I could start classes at Cambridge next fall!_

_Of course, I would have to pay for it somehow. That's the snag. Mum and Dad told Bran, Polly and me that they would see us through Redmond, but I can't ask them for anything more. I'd have to work my way through. But I'd do it. I'd work like ten beavers if it meant I could go._

_I wouldn't stay in England, of course. That's one of the other reasons I didn't take Freddie up on his offer. I would come home to Avonlea whenever I could, summers and any other holidays I could manage. It would still be a sacrifice … but not like living over there permanently._

_I don't know, maybe it's all just a crazy dream … but it's my dream. And it gets me through the days here when nothing else will._

_I miss you, fawn. Christmas vacation seems like it was years ago. I love the mittens you knit for me—I wear them to and from class every day. You are going to make some man a treasure of a wife someday, little one—you cook, you take care of a house, you knit, you're learning to sew and quilt … and you have brains on top of everything else. How I envy that future husband of yours! Oh well. He may get to marry you, but only I will always be,_

_Your cousin,_

_Peter._

Meggie put the letter down, feeling several unpleasant sensations. Peter going to England next year? Despite his promises to visit, she knew they would hardly ever see each other if he went—nothing would be the same.

As for his light-hearted joke about her wifely skills …

"I don't _want_ to marry!" she said aloud.

"Who says you have to?" Matty asked unexpectedly.

Meggie whirled. She had come up into the garret to read Peter's letter, feeling that snuggling in among the trunks, with the snow falling outside and a candle lighting her corner was a far more appropriate way to read his letter than simply downstairs in the kitchen. She hadn't been expecting anyone to come up.

"You scared me," she said crossly.

Matty looked surprised—as well he might, for the twins never quarrelled. "Sorry," he said reasonably. "I was just outside, saw the light up here, and thought I'd better make sure everything was all right." He crossed the floor and sat cross-legged next to her. "So who says you have to marry?"

"Everyone," Meggie sighed. "That's all anyone expects from me—that I'll get married and take care of a husband."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I don't _want_ to," Meggie exclaimed. "I want to stay here, with you and Papa. Everything I'm learning—all those skills Grandmamma says every good wife should have—are just so I can take care of Green Gables. I _hate_ sewing—and knitting—and quilting—but I'll do them happily if it means you and Papa are comfortable."

"But what if I get married?"

Meggie looked aghast. "Matty! You wouldn't!"

Matty shrugged. "I don't want to _now_, but I might someday," he said calmly. "Most people do."

Meggie's lower lip jutted out stubbornly. "Then I'll stay here and take care of Papa. _He'll_ always need me. I'll be like Aunt Una, taking care of my father all my life."

Matty shrugged again. "If that's what you want. You might change your mind, you know."

"Never," Meggie said vehemently. "And if anyone thinks I'm going to marry him and knit and sew and cook and clean for him, instead of for Papa …" she trailed off, unable to think of a threat grave enough.

"You'll tell him no," Matty suggested.


	24. The Fords Visit

Spring was come again to the Island, and with it, a much-anticipated visit. World traveller Persis Ford, famous for her architectural discoveries, her thrilling deeds of derring-do, and most important to the Avonlea and Glen matrons, her state of persistent singleness, was coming to pay Diana Samuels a two-week visit; bringing with her, of course, her adopted children, Paulette and Pierre Ford, originally inhabitants of Di's own Orphan Home before Persis adopted them. At eighteen years of age, the twins were becoming rather well-known themselves—Pierre for his work in ancient languages, Paulette for her innovative excavation techniques.

Di was beside herself with joy at the prospect of seeing her old friend and two of "her" children (as she still thought of every orphan who had passed through her doors). Even more than her delight at the upcoming visit, though, was her delight at another grand event—grand, at least, to the Blythe clan.

Bran, that harum-scarum, was graduating from Queen's College after three years of hard work and even harder play. He joked that they were letting him graduate simply to get rid of him, but his family knew he had earned this honour.

"I'm so excited about Commencement," Polly told Meggie as they sat out on Tanglewood's lawn enjoying the fresh spring breeze. "I have a new dress—Mum didn't think I could get one, since this year's harvest was so poor and I haven't grown _at all_ for two years." She pouted for a moment; Polly's petite frame was her greatest tribulation. "But then Dad said for an occasion such as this, I should have something new to wear. So Mum made me this darling dress out of dark gold crepe …" she chattered on, but Meggie stopped listening.

It was sad, but Meggie and Polly had started to grow apart that past year. Meggie didn't love her cousin any less, but she felt more and more when they got together that they had very little in common. Polly was devoted to fashion and glamour, thinking evermore of the day when she would enter that wondrous world of adulthood. She and Lily could spend hours talking about their weddings—what they were going to wear, how many bridesmaids they would have, what the colour scheme was going to be—and more; they had even decided how many babies they were each going to have, and what their names were.

"Four," Polly decided. "Two girl and two boys. Diana Mary, for Mum and me, Barbara Rose because it's the prettiest name I know, and William Peter and James David for the boys."

"_I_ want six," Lily declared. "Four girls and two boys."

No doubt she also went on to name them all, but at that point Meggie had escaped, and so missed the rest of the conversation.

For Meggie simply had no interest in any of that. She loved the woods, the fields, everything in nature. She would much rather spend the day alone outside than sit inside with other girls and talk about boys and other silly notions. Although she was now twelve, and starting to leave some of her childish dreams behind, she still clung to many of her fancies and plays, pretending to herself that there were still dryads and naiads and fauns inhabiting the land. Polly had very little tolerance with such imaginings.

"You're such a _child_, Meggie," she would say impatiently.

Surprisingly, Uncle Patrick came to Meggie's defence when he overheard Polly chiding her for her fancies.

"Leave her be, Polly," he said gently. "Our imaginations are our greatest gift. Meggie is wise for cultivating hers, for with it, she will never lose the path to fairyland."

"There's no such thing as fairyland, Dad," Polly said in exasperation.

Uncle Patrick raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure? Just because you've lost the key, daughter, doesn't mean it no longer exists." He patted Meggie on the shoulder. "Hold on to your dreams, honey. Don't grow up too fast."

"Meggie," Polly said now, breaking into her thoughts. "Are you listening?"

"Oh—yes," Meggie said guiltily. "Your dress sounds very pretty."

Polly sighed. "If only Freddie could see me in it."

"You still like him?" Meggie asked in wonder. "You haven't seen him for almost a year!"

"Yes, but he's still the handsomest boy I know," Polly said. "Who in Avonlea can compare to an English Earl?"

Meggie had to admit she had a point.

"Did you know," Polly continued, "that we've been speaking of him incorrectly all these years? We've always thought of him as Lord Freddie, but I learned in my English history this week that his proper title is Lord Whitmore."

"But his last name is Mercer," Meggie protested.

"Yes, but his earldom is Whitmore, so that's the name he goes by. His full title is the Right Honourable Lord of Whitmore. Doesn't that sound grand? And his wife will be the Right Honourable Countess of Whitmore, referred to as Madam or Lady Whitmore." Polly gazed dreamily into the blue sky.

Meggie shook off the intricacies of the English nobility and returned to more practical matters. "When are Aunt Persis and the twins arriving?"

"The day after Commencement," Polly answered absently. "They'll be here in time for my play!"

The Avonlea Dramatic Society was performing As You Like It that spring, and Polly had the role of Ursula, handmaiden to Hero. She was very excited, though not as excited had she had the role of Hero herself.

Meggie had been invited to join the Society after her twelfth birthday, but she declined.

"I don't like dressing up and pretending to be somebody else," she explained to Shirley. "I just want to be _me_."

And Shirley agreed there was no role that suited her half so well as that of Meggie.

* * *

Commencement came and went, and Bran returned to Avonlea as good-natured and laid-back as ever.

"I'm not going to Redmond right away," he announced. "Or any university, for that matter. I still have no idea what I want to do with my life—except enjoy it—and I see no point in wasting my time and Mum and Dad's money at college without knowing why I'm there. I'm going to take a year or so, work, experience life, and once I know what I want to do, _then_ I'll start studying for it."

Auntie Di was disappointed he had no further ambitions as of yet, but she couldn't help but be pleased at his practicality.

"For now," he continued, winking mischievously, "I plan on seeing if Paulette and Pierre are as much fun as they used to be."

Auntie Di groaned. "What you call fun, I call trouble. Oh, the headaches you three gave me! Nobody could control those twins until Persis came along."

"And still nobody can control me," Bran teased.

"Though goodness knows we've tried," Auntie Di agreed.

Tanglewood was spotless, Auntie Di and Polly having cleaned it from attic to cellar the previous week. They had even hired Lisa Blewett to come help them; Auntie Di had been heard to complain that having Lisa around made things about as cheerful as a funeral home, though she couldn't complain about her work ethic. The Blewetts were all hard workers, even if their social skills were somewhat lacking!

The house was clean, the lawn was trimmed, and all the Blythes and Samuels were awaiting Persis' arrival in the front parlour. Polly stationed herself at the window so she would be the first to see the visitors.

"I wonder if they'll have changed much in two years," she mused aloud, leaning her head against the glass. "I know I have," smoothing her navy skirt over her knees.

"They'll never change," Bran grinned happily.

"Eighteen," Auntie Di said. "Hard to believe they've grown that much."

"I'd wager Persis still looks eighteen herself," Uncle Patrick laughed.

Any reply anyone would have made was cut off by Polly's squeal. "They're here!"

She remembered her years and dignity just in time to keep from leaping down from her seat and racing out the front door. Bran had no such inhibitions, and tore out the door, followed more sedately by the rest of the family.

"Hello, you wonderful, wonderful lot of people!" Aunt Persis called gaily, waving her arms above her head. "You have no idea how delightful it is to see you all again. France has nothing on you lot."

"Persis, you look marvellous!" Auntie Di responded, hugging her old friend.

"So do you," Aunt Persis answered. "Hello Patrick, Shirley," she called, waving at them. "I'm honoured—even the hermit himself came to greet me."

Shirley smiled. "We haven't seen you for two years, Persis. Of course I had to at least come say hello."

Persis groaned and threw her hand over her eyes dramatically. "Don't remind me. Mother and Father are simply furious that I've spent so long between visits—and Rilla could barely agree to let me leave Toronto long enough to come see you all! 'But we're your _family_,' she kept saying. I finally had to have Paulette tell her that she and Pierre needed to come see Mother Di before she let us go—and that reluctantly!"

"How are you two?" Auntie Di asked, turning to the twins.

Meggie didn't know these two "cousins" very well at all, although she certainly heard a great deal about them. Both stood tall and straight, having an air of confidence about them rarely seen in people as young as they. Pierre was decidedly handsome, with piercing blue eyes, casually mussed brown hair, and a sensitive mouth. From the way Polly was staring at him, Meggie suspected Freddie was no longer first in her heart.

Paulette wore a knit cap over her light hair, trousers, and a man's striped shirt. Her heart-shaped face was closed, her full lips closed in a slight pout, and her hazel eyes met everyone's gaze challengingly. She looked as though she was ready to take offence at anything, but she met Auntie Di's question with a surprisingly sweet smile.

"It is so good to see you again, Mother Di," she said warmly, her light French accent highlighting her words.

"Indeed it is," Pierre agreed, leaving off shaking Bran's hand to drop a kiss on either of Auntie Di's cheeks.

"And here are Bran and Polly," Aunt Persis continued. "Goodness, I'd have recognized Bran anywhere, but Polly—you were just a little girl last time I saw you, and now you're a young lady!"

Polly beamed proudly.

"And of course, Meggie and Matty," Aunt Persis finished, smiling tenderly at both. "Shirley, they are your children—though I think I can see something of Cecily in them both."

"I sincerely hope so," Shirley responded, laying a gentle hand on their heads.

"Speaking of Cecilys, what's this I hear about Una taking in a baby?" Aunt Persis asked Auntie Di, looping her arm through the other woman's and leading the way inside. "I want to get caught up on all the Island gossip."

The adults all moved into the house, leaving the six young people staring uncertainly at each other. Paulette was the first to break the silence.

"_Mon Dieu_, but I need a cigarette!" she exclaimed, tossing her head.

Pierre frowned at her. "Paulette, you promised _Maman_."

Paulette scowled at him. "Mother Di is inside. I hardly think she will be offended if I smoke out here."

"There are windows," Pierre said pointedly.

"You may smoke if you want, Paulette," Bran interrupted. "None of us do—except Uncle Shirley, with the pipe, but nobody will fall over from a heart attack if they see you with a cigarette. After all, what can you expect from a Continental?" he ended with a wink.

Paulette laughed, and it was amazing what a difference a smile made in her sulky face. "Ah Bran, you have not changed a bit. Still a tease, you are."

Bran swept her a low bow. "_Mais oui_."

"You speak the French!" Pierre exclaimed in delight.

"That is the extent of it," Bran admitted. "I didn't quite expect the two of you to be quite so—Frenchified."

"We do live in France," Pierre pointed out.

"When you're not on expeditions," Polly said, somewhat breathlessly. "They must be _fascinating_."

Pierre smiled kindly at her. "Little Polly, you wish to be an archaeologist?"

Polly blushed. "I—I never really thought about it. But I would like to learn more about it while you are here," she added hastily.

Bran rolled his eyes, but Pierre just nodded. "It would be my pleasure to teach so eager a pupil. Although Paulette is the better one to ask. I mostly work in languages."

"Pierre, I did not come here to teach," Paulette said rudely. "I did not want to come at all, but now that I am here I plan to enjoy myself as much as is possible in this little place. And that does not include attempting to instruct children."

Pierre looked distressed at his sister's poor manners, but Matty spoke up before he could apologise. "I never quite saw the point of archaeology," he said. "What does it matter how people lived hundreds of years ago? What does that really have to do with us?"

Pierre laughed. "In order to answer that I would have to take several days, young sceptic. Suffice to say that if we neglect the past, our future is bleak. Only by learning about who we were can we understand who we are."

"I like the sound of that," Meggie said eagerly. "That sounds like something Peter would say about history."

"Archaeology and history have a great deal in common," Pierre was beginning, when Paulette interrupted him.

"Pierre, must we speak of our work now? Brother Bran, what is there fun to do on this Island?"

Bran scratched his chin. "Well, there's a barn dance at the neighbours tonight," he said reflectively. "And I think tomorrow we might sit around and watch the cows chew their cud."

Paulette's face was a study in horror. "Please tell me you are joking."

"Of course he is," Polly put in. "We're not _that_ backward around here."

Paulette laughed again. "I have forgotten what you are like, Bran. I can see I will have to be quick on my feet with you around. Pierre, he is so serious about his work, I have almost forgotten what it is like to live with a tease."

Bran threw his arm around her shoulders affectionately. "Well, you have two whole weeks to become accustomed to it again."

"Two weeks," she moaned, grinding her cigarette under her heel. "How will I survive?"

Bran merely laughed again and steered her inside, followed by Pierre and Matty. Polly and Meggie lingered a moment longer on the lawn.

"Isn't he _handsome_?" Polly breathed.

Meggie shrugged. "I suppose."

"I don't like her very much, though," Polly continued. "I remember her being much nicer last time they were here."

"Two years is a long time," Meggie pointed out. "A person can change."

"I wish she hadn't."

They went inside on that note, but Meggie couldn't help but agree with Polly. Two weeks with the scornful and sulky Paulette Ford wasn't going to be anything near the good time she had hoped for.


	25. Paulette

Paulette didn't grow to like the Island any more. While Pierre adapted easily to the simpler way of life, appearing quite happy to potter about the farms with the men, or tutor Polly in French (her accent was execrable, but Pierre claimed he'd never had a more willing pupil), or tease Bran about his growing infatuation with Jane Stuart, Paulette pouted and sulked, complaining that there was never anything to do.

"You could at least _try_ to make an effort," Meggie heard Aunt Persis tell the girl in exasperation one day.

"Why should I?" Paulette replied.

"For one thing, you might actually find yourself having a better time, and for another, you are being quite rude to Di and Patrick, who are going out of their way to make this a good time for you and Pierre."

"If you really want me to have a good time, you'd let me go back to Paris," Paulette answered. "I only came here to see Mother Di and because you forced me. Now I've seen her, so I don't see why I can't return."

Meggie realized she was accidentally eavesdropping on a private conversation at this point and left, so she never heard Aunt Persis' reply, but it must have been in the negative, for Paulette did _not_ leave the Island—nor did her attitude improve.

Polly, meanwhile, was completely smitten with Pierre. Completely forgotten was Freddie—despite his aristocracy, the handsome but distant Englishman couldn't compete with the charming (and present) Frenchman. Bran teased his sister dreadfully, but Pierre, whether he was aware of her affection or not, only treated her with kindness and respect.

"Polly," said Matty in disgust, coming home from Tanglewood one evening, "has gotten _silly_."

"I'm afraid she has," Meggie agreed with a sigh.

Shirley smiled in the gathering dusk. "Don't judge her too harshly, children. Many girls become a bit silly at Polly's age." He shook his head. "Your aunt Rilla was even sillier when _she_ was fourteen."

"Aunt Rilla?" Meggie asked in disbelief. Their elegant, polished aunt, who never appeared to do anything out of place?

Shirley nodded solemnly. "Just ask your Uncle Jem if you don't believe me."

"I hope she outgrows it soon," Matty grumbled.

Shirley said nothing, thinking of how it took the War for Rilla to outgrow her foolishness. He would rather see all his nieces—and even his own daughter—trapped in a silly stage for years, rather than have them endure what his sisters did: watching their friends, brothers, and sweethearts go off to get killed.

"Oh!" Meggie said suddenly, stopping short. "I've left my history book behind."

"Can't you get it in the morning?" Matty asked, wanting to get home to supper and bed.

"I left it out on the lawn," Meggie said with a troubled face. "I'm afraid the dew will spoil it."

"We'd best go back, then," Shirley said simply.

"Oh no, you don't have to come with me," Meggie protested. "I'll just run back—I won't be long."

"Very well, then. Don't be too long," he warned.

"I won't," Meggie promised, and flashing them both a bright smile, she darted off in the direction from which they had come.

As she ran through the twilight, Meggie found her steps getting slower and slower. It was really too beautiful an evening to rush. The moon was peeking up over one horizon, shedding its glimmering light on all around, while the sun had barely sunk below the other scope, still leaving a dim red smoulder in the sky. The combination of the two glows coming through the dark trees, all a-quiver with their new spring leaves, was intoxicating, and Meggie couldn't help but glance half-nervously, half-playfully over her shoulder, almost expecting to see the fauns and fairies of her imaginings peeking back at her between the tree trunks.

When she reached Tanglewood, rather than break the spell of the dusk by knocking on the door, she tip-toed silently through the lawn, enjoying the spectacle of the light streaming through the windows contrasting with patches of black night on the grass. She found her book easily enough and was preparing to leave again, when she smelled smoke.

Fearing a fire, Meggie followed her quivering nose to the source—whereupon she stopped suddenly, shrinking back in the shadows so as not to be seen.

Paulette stood in a patch of moonlight, smoking a cigarette and drinking something out of a bottle. Standing rather too close to her was one of May Sloane's older brothers, an unmistakeable drunken leer on his face. Meggie had never seen anyone drunk before, but something in her pure little soul recognized it and reeled from it in revulsion.

Paulette handed the bottle to the Sloane boy with a false little laugh. "So, when is this party you said you could take me to tomorrow?"

"Oh, it won't start until 'most midnight," he slurred.

"Well, at least it'll be _something_," she sneered. "Anything's better than sitting around listening to _Maman_ and Mother Di tell stories from their childhood night after night."

"Aw, forget about them," the Sloane boy said, wiping his lips on his sleeve and handing the bottle back to Paulette. "How 'bout you give me a kiss?"

"Maybe," Paulette mocked, leaning in closer. Meggie couldn't suppress a choked cry of disgust, and the two sprang apart almost comically.

"Who is that?" Paulette demanded furiously, marching over to Meggie's hiding spot. "Come out of there at once, you little snoop," she said, grabbing Meggie's arm and propelling her into the light.

Meggie was speechless with nausea over the scene she'd just witnessed. Paulette shook her arm.

"Come now, why were you spying on us? Who put you up to it? Pierre?" She trailed off in an angry French mutter.

The Sloane boy stared at Meggie uncertainly, his liquor-sodden brain unable to comprehend this sudden turn of events.

"I wasn't spying," Meggie finally forced out between numb lips. "I came back to get my book … and smelled smoke … and thought something was wrong." She fell silent, shivering.

Paulette released her, face suddenly thoughtful instead of angry. She turned to the Sloane boy. "You—go home," she ordered. "I'll take care of this. Don't forget to come fetch me tomorrow night," she added quietly, but Meggie still heard her.

"Whatever you say, baby," he mumbled, and staggered off. Paulette bent down so her face was even with Meggie's.

"Now,_ma petite_," she said wheedlingly. "Don't be cross with me. I'm not such a bad girl, really, I just do things a little differently than what you're used to. You wouldn't tell anyone about me and … that boy, would you?"

"Are you going to sneak out to that party with him tomorrow?" Meggie asked in distress.

Paulette pouted. "Now, don't get all prudish on me, _cherie_. You are just a little thing—how can you possibly know what's right or wrong for me? Now, if you promise to keep silent about this, I'll do something nice for you. See? Then we'll both be happy. What would you like? A new doll? A frock, perhaps, like what little Polly likes? Anything you want, my pet. Just for keeping one little secret for me." She winked.

Meggie drew away austerely. Paulette's face darkened. "Of course," she said menacingly, "if you prefer to be a snitch in addition to being a snoop …"

Meggie was still silent. She _didn't_ want to be a tale-teller—something only a Pye or Sloane would do—but neither would she be bribed to hold her tongue. Troubled, she couldn't meet Paulette's eyes. "I have to go home," she blurted. "Papa will be worried." Before Paulette could say anything more, Meggie had gone, the beauty of the night spoiled for her.

* * *

"You've been awfully quiet tonight, Meggie-love," Shirley said to his daughter as she kissed him goodnight prior to following Matty upstairs. "Is anything wrong?"

"Papa," Meggie said hesitantly. "If you know someone who is doing something wrong, but you found out accidentally and weren't supposed to know, should you tell? Or is that being a tattletale?"

"That is a difficult question, my heart," Shirley said gravely, drawing her against him and snuggling her head on his chest. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Meggie said slowly.

"This person who is doing the wrong thing—is it hurting him or her or anyone else?"

"I think it's hurting her," Meggie said. "But she doesn't think so."

"I see. And did she ask you not to tell?" By Meggie's use of the female pronoun, Shirley had a fairly good idea of whom his little girl was speaking ... and he didn't like the implications one bit.

"She tried to bribe me," Meggie said indignantly.

"Ah. So now things get even more complicated. You see, now you must ask yourself if you want to tell out of genuine love and concern for this person, or because you are angry with her for trying to get you to lower your standards."

"I hadn't thought of that," Meggie said in distress. _Could_ she be that petty? After an examination, she concluded rather sadly that she _could_—but she wasn't sure she was in this case. "I think I'm still mostly worried about her," she said candidly. "I think she's going to do something tomorrow that would be bad."

"I see." Shirley's expression didn't change, but he suddenly understood what Meggie was talking about. For, not being quite blind, he had noticed little things that came together and made sense—Paulette's dissatisfaction with Avonlea, Andy Sloane's inexplicable tendency to hang around Tanglewood, the empty liquor bottles he'd found tucked under the hay in Patrick's barn, and the rumours of a party held by some of Avonlea's wilder youth (including Andy Sloane) the next evening. He guessed that Meggie had stumbled upon Andy and Paulette and overheard them planning to attend the party together. He couldn't quite keep his disgust from his face at Persis' daughter associating with the kind of young man the Sloane boy was, or from her ill-advised attempt to buy Meggie's silence, but when he spoke, his voice was perfectly calm.

"I think, my child, that you should go to bed with a clear conscience. You have not told any tales, but you have expressed your concern for this person. Leave the rest to me."

"Really?" Meggie possessed an unswerving faith in her papa's ability to put_any_ problem aright, but she didn't see how even he could make sense out of the tangled words she had spoken.

Shirley kissed the top of her head. "Trust me."

Feeling suddenly much better, Meggie threw her arms around his neck. "I will," she promised, squeezing him tightly. "Thank you, Papa."

"You're welcome, my love. Goodnight, now."

"Goodnight."

Meggie went happily upstairs, leaving Shirley smoking his pipe and ruminating over the best possible way to save Paulette from herself.

* * *

Paulette had been uneasy all day, but when none of the Blythes came over, and no suspicious glances were thrown her way, she decided that Meggie must have kept her mouth shut about her date with that boy—what _was_ his name? Oh well, she decided, it didn't really matter. After all, it wasn't as though she was interested in him—just in the alcohol he could provide and the distraction he was to the utter tedium of things. She couldn't understand _how_ Pierre could be so content here. Why, just yesterday he had told _Maman_ that he wouldn't mind spending more time here when they weren't working.

"Yes,"_Maman_ had laughed, "I always feel more alive here than anywhere else in the world—even Egypt."

Bah! Paulette could not understand them. When she was working on an expedition, that was all she could think of: the thrill of discovery, the joy of searching out new peoples and new civilizations, the scholarly pleasure in proving or disproving a theory. But when she was not working—why, she just wanted to have fun! And in order to have fun, one must be in Europe. Even this little party that boy was taking her to this night wasn't truly a good time—it was a_bagatelle_, a trifle, something to take her mind off how deadly dull life was here. She couldn't believe that she was missing an entire month when she could be in Paris to visit Canada. Even Toronto hadn't been too terrible, but this Island! All these bucolic people, wandering around without an idea of a higher life, of sophistication, of how to really _live_ … only interested in cows and fish and village gossip. Paulette despised them all.

Not Mother Di. She felt rather sorry for Mother Di, who really could have been somebody if she hadn't married Patrick and buried herself out here. Yes, Paulette pitied Mother Di … and yet, at times, she caught a glimpse of something in the older woman's eyes that made her uncomfortable … as though Mother Di pitied _her_.

Nonsense! The only pity she required was pity for having to stay here for another week. With that thought in mind, Paulette excused herself from the parlour with the excuse of a headache to go upstairs and prepare for the party.

Not that she needed much preparation. She wouldn't dare wear one of her Parisian frocks—one of those simple milkmaids might tear it, or one of those clod-hopper boys step on it during a dance. No, she would wear her usual trousers and striped shirt—but there were always things a girl needed to do to primp before any gathering, no matter how insignificant.

She waited impatiently in her darkened room for the rest of the house to retire—which they did at a ridiculously early time—and then crept through the house, to wait for whatever-his-name-was on the lawn. She flung herself into a chair and lit a cigarette, swinging her legs over the chair arms and speculating idly on what her friends in Paris were doing at that moment.

"Good evening."

_"Mon Dieu!"_ Paulette accidentally inhaled and had to cough and sputter for several moments before she could even look to see who had so addressed her.

"Ah—M. Blythe," she said finally, recognizing Mother Di's brother.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Shirley said pleasantly, sitting in the chair next to hers as though it were broad daylight instead of the middle of the night. Paulette wondered uneasily why he was there and how long he planned on staying.

"What brings you here at this time of night?" she asked boldly.

Shirley chuckled. "I could ask you the same thing, but I have a feeling we both know the answer to both questions."

Paulette scowled. "So, she did tell," she said sourly.

"As a matter of fact, she did not," Shirley said. "I deduced it."

"Well," Paulette said insouciantly, tossing her cigarette aside. "What are you going to do to me? Tie me up and carry me back inside? Tell _Maman_ what I am doing? Lecture me until I shed tears of remorse and promise to be a better girl?" She laughed mockingly.

"Actually," Shirley said, "I thought perhaps I might just keep you company until Andy arrives. After all, it is rather dull waiting for a secret assignation all alone."

Paulette frowned. She suspected he was making fun of her, but she couldn't quite tell. "Aren't you even going to tell me how wrong I am to deceive _Maman_ and Mother Di?"

"No," Shirley said.

"Good."

"You already know how wrong it is, or you wouldn't be so uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable!" Paulette laughed in scorn. "I am not uncomfortable. I am perfectly happy—or would be, if I could go home."

Shirley made no reply to this, and they sat in silence for some moments. Finally, Paulette couldn't stand it any more, and burst out:

"It's not as though I enjoy sneaking around! But they don't understand. When they were girls, things were different. We're modern now. I don't like to sit around and knit, or wait for my husband to find me. I want to _enjoy_ life—snatch it, grasp it, live it while I can!" She turned her head away. "Bah, you cannot understand either. You're too old."

Shirley laughed again. "Maybe so. But I seem to recall Persis complaining about many of the very same things when she was younger."

"Truly?" Paulette asked in amazement. "No, you are fooling me."

"Your mother was considered quite the rebel in her younger days," Shirley said. "I fact, she still is. Do you know how unusual it is for a single woman to adopt twins and take up archaeology the way Persis did? She broke every unspoken rule for women's behaviour there was. Of course," he added, "She did it for something she loved and believed in, not just to flout convention."

Now Paulette was feeling decidedly ill at ease. Where was that boy? Surely it was nearly time for him to fetch her. "If _Maman_ did all that, why can't she understand me?"

"How do you know she doesn't?" Shirley parried. "Have you ever tried talking to her—really talking, and _listening_?"

"We speak a different language," Paulette muttered. "She doesn't hear what I say."

"I'd wager she'd say the same thing about you," Shirley said, his voice quietly amused. "Let me ask you another question: Do you love your mother?"

Paulette tossed her head. "How rude! Of course I do."

"Then do you think perhaps you could make more of an effort to understand what she says, instead of always trying to prove your point? You just might find that she makes more of an effort as well … and then you just might have communication."

"You just want me to be a good girl, like your Meggie," Paulette sneered, trying to dismiss his quiet words that cut through all her defences.

"My dear, there is only one Meggie," Shirley said. "And whether or not you believe it, I truly do care for you, just as you are."

"I don't believe you," Paulette muttered. "Why should you? You don't even know me."

"I care because my sister, whom I love dearly, cares; because you are my friend's daughter; because you are a human being; and because underneath your hard exterior I see a girl who desperately needs caring for."

Paulette was angry to find tears welling up in her eyes. She hadn't cried in years! Why should some smooth words from this man who was practically a stranger affect her so? She wouldn't listen to him—she_wouldn't_. "Leave me alone," she ordered. "Go away."

"No."

It was quietly spoken, but the authority was unmistakeable. Paulette sprang up. "Then _I_ will leave. I will go meet my date."

"He's not coming."

"What?" Paulette whirled furiously. "You lied to me! What did you do to him?"

Shirley rose also and took the enraged girl by the shoulders. "Paulette," he said. "I did nothing to him. I did, however, mention to Bran and Pierre this morning during chores that I had noticed Sloane hanging about and watching you. Bran knows enough of his reputation that they took care of the rest."

"You just want to control me, just like Pierre," she spat.

"Paulette." The deep voice was compelling. "Your brother wants to _protect_ you. Andy Sloane has a foul reputation—nothing has ever been proven, but everyone knows what he has done. A couple of years ago, he took another girl to a party much like this one tonight …" he trailed off.

Paulette was experienced enough to know what he wasn't saying. She hadn't expected to find such things in _Avonlea_ of all places … and suddenly felt sick at the thought of how close she had come to kissing that boy. "Why should I believe you?" she said, still struggling to maintain her haughty shell.

"Because I have no reason to lie to you."

"Neither do I," said another voice, this one as familiar to Paulette as her own. Pierre moved out of the shadows. _"Ma soeur_, what has happened to us? We used to be as close as two siblings could be. When did you start growing away from me?"

Shirley released Paulette and stepped back, leaving the siblings to face each other.

"I! It is you who has grown away from me, Pierre," Paulette said bitterly. "We used to be able to laugh and enjoy life together, but then you grew too _sérieux_ for such things. You started scolding me, and lecturing me. It is you who have changed, _mon frère_, not I."

Pierre sighed. "You are right. I have been but a poor brother to you, Paulette. What can I say? One day I saw that the path we were moving down led to nothing—fleeting pleasure for the moment, and bitter repentance for the future. All our friends—they were wasting their lives. I decided I did not want that for myself—I wanted my life to mean something. I assumed you would understand, as we have always understood everything about each other. I was wrong."

"You are just a snob!" Paulette hissed, breaking into French. "Who are you to say that their lives are meaningless? That it is a waste? Why should we not enjoy the moment? There is nothing wrong in that."

"Paulette, you have studied the past as much or more than I have," Pierre answered, also in French. "Do you want your life to vanish in the dust like so many? Or do you want to be remembered after you die? I don't want my only memorial to be that I lived in the moment with no thought for the future."

"You would rather be remembered as a stodgy old bore?"

"No, I would rather be remembered as someone who sought _true_ joy, true happiness, true peace, instead of settling for whatever cheap imitation the world could offer. Sister dear, don't you know there's more out there? Don't you want to find it for yourself? What can your current life really offer you but temporary escape?"

Paulette bit her lip. Never had she heard Pierre speak with such passion, not even about his beloved dead languages. As much as she wanted to continue to dismiss him, she couldn't, for what he said was true. How many parties had she returned from, only to wake the next morning with a raging headache and no recollection of the night's events? How many times had she laughed and joined in her friends' gossip about another acquaintance, knowing full well that they would start in on tearing her apart the moment she left—as she would do to them? Why did she always feel such relief when they left Paris for another expedition, a relief she was embarrassed to even admit?

Pierre saw the struggle in her face, and came forward. "Paulette," he said gently. "Forgive me. I did not mean to lecture you. You know that I will always love you, no matter what you do, or how far apart we may grow. You are my sister, and that means more to me than anything."

That bit of gentleness was the last straw. Paulette's final defences melted away, and she burst into tears. Pierre folded her in his arms, and they moved into the house, the brother crooning softly into her hair.

"Well," said Shirley to himself, left alone in the night. "I can only hope that went well." His French was highly sketchy, but he trusted that Pierre's words had reached his sister—whatever they were. In the meantime, he needed to get back home and try to catch what few hours of sleep remained to him before he had to rise with the sun in the morning.


	26. A Family Rift

The Blythes were all gathered at Ingleside once again for their annual reunion. Everyone was happy to hear about each other's lives: the adults discussed Jerry's latest political triumph; Ken's novel, soon to be published; Una's adventures with baby Katy; Di's trip to England, and so forth. The young folk, meanwhile, were just as busy telling about their lives over the past year. Anna and Ally described in enthralling detail their tenth birthday party, to which it seemed everyone in Toronto had come. Polly gushed to Lily about how charming Pierre was, and how unpleasant Paulette had been at first, but how she'd miraculously changed before they left; Blythe boasted about his latest accomplishments at school; Dee confided in strictest confidence to all her girl cousins—individually—that a_boy_ had asked her to a school party, but her father had refused …

Meggie, though always happy to see her family, soon wearied of all the noise, and fled to Rainbow Valley for some peace. There she found Matty and Johnny sitting in companionable silence under the Tree Lovers. Matty grinned up at his twin.

"You got tired of all the fuss, too?"

Meggie seated herself beside Johnny. "I couldn't take any more of Polly and Lily talking about Pierre," she said in a rare burst of annoyance. "Or Dee going on about all the boys at school who like her. Sorry, Johnny," she added belatedly.

"Don't apologize to me, I have to listen to it all the time!" he exclaimed. "I'm just glad she has other _girls_ to talk to now. What do _I_ care about how many boys like her?"

"Just wait," chimed in Peter, coming unexpectedly around the corner. "In a few years you and Blythe will have to beat them off with a stick, just like Bran and I have to do with Polly. Meggie," he continued, "do you have time for a walk?"

"Of course," Meggie agreed with alacrity. Peter was only home for a short time this summer before going back to Redmond for summer classes. And then … Meggie sighed. He had decided to go to Cambridge in the fall. Peter in England was a very different thing from Peter in Kingsport. Meggie was eager to soak up as much time with her cousin as possible before he left.

They strolled down the harbour road hand-in-hand, two children at heart still, though one considered himself a man. In truth, Peter hadn't really thought of himself as a child since the day he and Polly arrived in Canada, alone and forsaken. Yet in his heart and mind, he was still a boy, with a boy's dreams and ambitions. Immersed in his beloved histories, he had experienced very little of Life, and in some ways Meggie, who participated in the world rather than merely observing it, was older and wiser than he.

"I'm glad my break fell during the family reunion," Peter said. "Although it would have been nice to spend it quietly at home, sitting in the garden, strolling down to Echo Lodge in the evenings for a little chat with the fairies, running over to Green Gables for a visit with my best chum … But I'm glad to have a chance to say goodbye to everyone, too."

"We'll all miss you awfully," Meggie said wistfully.

"I'll miss you, too," Peter said, but he couldn't keep his excitement from his face. "It's such a grand opportunity, though. Did I tell you about old Mr. Reed?"

Meggie shook her head.

"He's Jocelyn's father—the old squire of the village. He hired me to work on the grounds of his estate for the year. Between what I earn from him, the little I've saved up, and the scholarship I won this spring at Redmond, I'll be able to afford school for this year, at least. After that, we'll see, but at least it's a start."

"I'm very happy for you," Meggie said, more as a conventionality than out of true joy, but Peter didn't even seem to hear her.

"Of course, I'm sure he only did it because Jocelyn asked him. According to Freddie, since her mother died, Jocelyn really runs the family affairs in all but name. Old Mr. Reed does whatever she suggests." He mused for a moment before continuing. "Freddie would say it's demeaning to work as a groundskeeper for my living, especially when I could be living off _him_, but I'll respect myself more if I earn my own way, especially by hard physical labour. It will be more _satisfactory_, somehow. Does that make sense?"

"Of course," Meggie answered, but again, Peter wasn't listening.

"I think Jocelyn understood that. That's why she had her father offer me the position. She has a remarkably keen insight into human nature—rather like you, faun."

Meggie warmed to the use of her old pet name, but inside she was feeling a bit dull. Peter had grown away from her this year—ever since he had decided to go to Cambridge, in fact. She supposed it was to be expected to a certain extent; he was starting a new life, with new goals and dreams, while she was simply going on the way she always had. The age gap between twelve and twenty had never seemed so large.

They walked in silence for a bit longer—Peter dreaming great dreams, Meggie trying to not feel glum—before Peter spoke again.

"And what are your plans for this next year, Meggie?"

Meggie shrugged. "The same," she answered simply. "Miss Craig is moving to Winnipeg to live with her sister, so Matty, Polly and I are going back to school this fall. Other than that … no changes."

"Don't you ever get tired of things staying the same, little one?" Peter asked her, looking down into her placid face.

"No," Meggie answered thoughtfully. "Because each day is different in itself, without anything else needed. Besides, most changes are always bad."

"Not always," Peter countered. "Look at Baby Katy. You wouldn't call her bad, would you? Yet she was a great change. And you and the rest being able to go back to school! That's a change, but a good one. Or take me being able to go to England …" he trailed off happily.

"That may be a good change for you," Meggie told him honestly. "But not for me."

Peter laughed and tugged one of her curls lightly. "It won't be that bad. I'll still write to you faithfully. It won't be all that different from me being at Redmond."

"Except you won't come home for breaks," Meggie pointed out.

Peter twisted his mouth wryly. "True. But it won't be forever. I'll be home again sometime."

Meggie sighed. Peter looked at her curiously. "Why so blue, little chum? It's not like you to be so down."

"I don't know," Meggie answered, stopping on the road to think it out. "It's just—you're leaving soon, and Polly is growing up and away from me, and sometimes I think Matty likes Johnny better than me …"

The truth was that Meggie herself was starting to change a bit, and she neither understood nor liked the adjustment. Had she a mother to explain things and help her comprehend it might have been better, but as it was, she could only struggle through on her own.

Peter, being but a boy, couldn't recognize all this, but he remembered vaguely some of the changes that Polly went through when she was twelve, and he tried to be sensitive.

"You're being a little goose, you know," he said in a tone of friendly chaff, designed to lighten her mood. "There's no one in the world Matty likes better than you—everyone knows that. There might be things he can talk about better with Johnny, since they're both boys, but Johnny could never replace you in Matty's heart. As for Polly, I think you'll find as you both grow older you'll grow closer again. She's going through what Dad calls the 'silly stage,' and once she's over that, you'll find you have more in common. And me—why faun, distance won't change our friendship! We're connected at the heart; that's something no amount of miles can sever."

"You don't like Jocelyn better than me?" Meggie asked wistfully.

Peter's face grew grave. "I admire and respect Jocelyn more than almost any woman I know," he admitted. "But she is Freddie's fiancée, and even if she weren't … she could never be to me what you are. You're my confidant, my little mentor, my best chum. Nobody will ever change that, I promise you."

Meggie made no reply but to squeeze his hand, suddenly feeling much better about life in general. It _had_ been hard when she had felt herself superfluous to all those she loved most.

They had turned around by now and were nearly back at Rainbow Valley. "Good heavens, what is that?" Peter asked, his head tilted.

Meggie also heard the wild cries and unpleasant noise of flesh hitting flesh. "I don't know," she said, feeling worried.

They quickened their pace and followed their ears to where Johnny and Walt were on the ground beneath a large oak tree, each doing their best to pound the other into a pulp.

"Here now, what's all this?" Peter said sharply, striding forward and wrenching them apart. Walt hung limply in his grasp; he had obviously been getting the worst of the fight. His left eye was swollen almost completely shut, blood was streaming from both his mouth and nose, and his battered hands clutched at his stomach.

Johnny, on the other hand, snarled and struggled to get free from Peter's iron grip, oblivious to the blood that dripped down his face from a cut above his eye.

"Let me go," he muttered. "I'll show him."

"I take … it all … back," Walt wheezed. "I'm sorry … I said anything … about Dee."

"I'll make you sorrier!" Johnny spat, lunging forward and nearly choking as Peter's hand tightened around his collar.

"Enough of this," Peter said authoritatively. "Meggie, see if you can talk some sense into this cousin of yours."

As she had done once before, Meggie took hold of Johnny's hands and stood before his face, forcing him to see her with his furious eyes. "Johnny," she said quietly but clearly, "Let it go."

His breathing slowed, his flushed face returned to its normal colourless hue, and finally he stood calm. Peter relaxed his grip and let both boys stand free, though Walt had to lean up against the oak for support.

"Now," Peter said calmly. "Who wants to tell me what this was all about?"

Walt was clearly in no shape to talk about anything, so Johnny answered, speaking in a low voice, with his eyes fixed on the ground. "He called Dee a stuck-up puss because she talked so much about all the boys who like her. I told him he'd better not say anything like that about _my_ sister, but he wouldn't take it back, so I made him."

"But Johnny," Meggie said in bewilderment, "You were complaining about Dee yourself earlier!"

"That's different," Johnny said defiantly, throwing his head back. "She's my sister. Nobody else had better say anything bad about her, or I'll pound them."

"Well," Peter said, now sounding amused, "since you've upheld your family honour, do you think you and Walt can make up? And we'd better figure out an explanation for why you two look the way you do—unless you _want_ the aunts to know you've been fighting."

They both looked horrified at the thought. "Let's take them to the manse," Meggie suggested. "Aunt Betsy won't scold, and she can help clean them up and help think up a good excuse for them."

"Excellent," Peter agreed. "Come on, you two, let's get a move on before anybody else sees you."

They walked off together, Peter leading the way, followed by Johnny, whose aggressive attitude still showed clearly in his strut and the way he held his head cocked proudly. Meggie helped Walt finish the small parade, as he was still unsteady on his feet.

"He called me a sissy for writing poetry, and a fool, and a dreamer, and a whole host of other bad names," Walt told her, staring bitterly at Johnny's back. "I'll never forgive him, not ever. I could forgive him beating me for Dee's honour, but the things he said … never, never!"

His passion startled Meggie. She reflected uneasily that she didn't know Walt as well as she used to. His love for beauty and obsession with poetry consumed all his time, and he had little or no interest in Meggie anymore except as an audience when no one else would listen. With most of the other boy cousins, she knew that this would pass, and he and Johnny would feel the same way toward each other in a week. With Walt, though … his sensitive nature and passionate spirit combined to make him equally stubborn in his loves and hates. She feared he meant everything he said, and he and Johnny would never be on good terms again.

* * *

_**Author's note:** This chapter gave me fits to try and write. Oh well, here it is, flawed though it may be. Laura, this one is for you, because Lis told me you've been waiting for an update. Hopefully the next one won't be as long in coming, since the baby is starting to sleep more and be happier when she is awake, giving me more time to write!_


	27. An Epoch

Meggie checked her valise for at least the dozenth time, wanting to make sure she had everything she was going to need for the next three days.

"Not excited, are you?" her father said teasingly from the open doorway.

Meggie looked up at him, dimpling. "Of course I am," she answered frankly. "It isn't every day I get to go to the Charlottetown Exhibition. I'm so thankful to Grandmother!" Her brow clouded momentarily. "But I wish you and Matty could come, too."

Shirley entered her bedroom and bent to kiss the top of her head. "Don't fret, Meggie-love. It's only for three days."

"Not even," Matty joined in. "It's really only one full day. You leave today—Thursday—and come back Saturday evening." Matty's tone was of one who tries to convince himself. He too dreaded the coming separation, and where Meggie would have all the delights of the Exhibition—and Grandmother, and the other girl cousins—to distract her, he would have to wait her return quietly at home.

"That's true," Meggie agreed. "And I'll have so much fun telling you about everything; I'll be sure to look at all the livestock for you, not just the handwork and flowers."

"Don't forget the horses," he reminded her.

"I won't," she promised solemnly.

Shirley's eyes twinkled as he watched them try to reconcile themselves to their parting. For his part, he was glad Mother was taking Meggie for a few days, though he would miss her almost as much as Matty. He had noticed her growing tendency to stay close to home, refusing to venture out on her own. He didn't want her love for home to turn into a morbid devotion, nor did he want her to miss opportunities she would otherwise benefit from simply because she didn't want to leave Green Gables or him.

"Come now," he said lightly. "Uncle Patrick will be here any moment to take you and Polly to the station."

The three went downstairs, coming out on the front porch just in time for Uncle Patrick to pull up at the gate, Polly sitting straight and excited next to him, looking very grown-up indeed in her dark gold jacket, with her copper hair set in delicate pin curls underneath a dashing beret.

"Aren't you thrilled?" she chattered as soon as Meggie had kissed her father and brother and torn herself away. "Three days in Charlottetown with Grandmother, Lily, and Dee. And yesterday, when Jane was at the house, she said she might run up tomorrow and spend a few hours with us at the Exhibition."

Meggie, for once, was glad of her cousin's prattle; it took her mind off the painful parting. She listened in silence until she felt more like her usual cheerful self, at which point she joined in with good will, detailing everything she wanted to do and see at the Exhibition. Polly, it seemed, was mostly interested in the horse races and the entertainment.

"Who _cares_ about seeing which cows are the finest, or which chickens lay the most eggs, or who won first prize for lace," she said, tossing her hand airily. "That's so … provincial."

"But Polly," Meggie pointed out in a logical fashion worthy of Matty, "We _are_ provincial."

Polly sniffed. "Just because we live on farms doesn't make us like the rest of these people," indicating the general population of Avonlea with another wave of her hand. "_We_ have culture."

"Careful, Polly," Uncle Patrick said gravely from the driver's seat. "You're starting to sound like a snob."

Polly blushed and instantly dropped her airs. "I don't mean it like that, Dad," she said penitently. "It's just that I'm going to be starting at Queen's next year, and I don't want to be taken for a little backward farm girl. Besides, after meeting Pierre … and Paulette …" she added after a moment's consideration … "I've just started to realize how much bigger the world is than little old Avonlea. I don't want my horizons to be bounded by the next farm." She looked rather proud of that finishing sentence, but neither her father nor cousin responded. Patrick was wishing the rest of the world could be as safe as Avonlea—Japan's invasion of China in July was not a good sign for the peace he and others of his generation had fought so hard to ensure.

Meggie might have answered, but the beauty of the ripening fields they were driving past had caught her eye, and so she missed her cue to respond.

Grandmother, Lily, and Dee (who was staying at Ingleside especially for this trip) met them at the station; Uncle Patrick kissed them all around and drove off, leaving the five "womenfolk" looking at each other delightedly.

"I've been wanting to do this for years," Grandmother declared, herding them onto the train. "I still remember my first Exhibition—Diana Barry and I stayed with her Great-Aunt Josephine—and I so wanted to share in your experience."

Anyone listening to the cousins' chatter on the way might have thought Anne Blythe was "experiencing" a bit too much. But despite her silver hair, she was still a girl at heart, remembering well the fancies and follies of youth, and not only let them rattle on, but joined in with all her sympathetic heart.

"Really," Mrs. Josie Wright whispered to her married daughter, Annabelle Andrews, both of whom were travelling up by the same train for the Exhibition, "You'd think Anne Shirley would have learned sense by now! But those red-headed people are always flighty. I did and still do feel sorry for Gilbert Blythe."

* * *

That trip to Charlottetown marked an "epoch" in the four cousins' lives, as Anne herself once said, but in extremely different ways for each.

For Dee, it was the sudden humiliating realization that, sophisticated city girl though she was, she was a complete ignoramus when it came to things about which her cousins knew everything. Watching Meggie converse animatedly with a crabbed old farmer regarding the varying thickness of wool in different breeds of sheep (and winning a smile from him in the process); seeing Lily blush with delight as she took first prize for her elegant needlepoint; listening as Polly (despite her scorn at seeming "provincial") instructed them all as to what made Mrs. Malcolm's butter still superior, after all these years, to any other entrant … Dee discovered that knowing all there was to know about the latest fashions and school gossip perhaps wasn't as valuable as she had previously thought, and she vowed then and there that she would become an accomplished woman in one way or another.

Lily's golden moment came when the judge handed her the award for her needlework. It was the first time she had been acknowledged for something _other_ than her looks, something which she had accomplished of her own work. All her life, she had been known as the beauty of the Blythe clan, Glen St. Mary, and the entire harbour. She was pleased to finally have done something other people considered worthwhile, something that could distinguish her all of her own effort.

Polly and Grandmother had a long, serious talk Thursday night after the other girls had gone to bed. Polly found herself telling Grandmother all about her "crush" on Pierre, and how she despaired of _ever_ having him think of her as anything but a _child_. She remembered long afterward the crisp advice Grandmother gave:

"My dear, if you don't wish to be thought of as a child, don't act like one."

Such words from the kind and sympathetic Grandmother startled Polly. She thought for a moment, and then examined her thoughts and actions over the past year and blushed over how foolish they would seem to anyone older.

"Keep your dreams and your youthful heart, Polly," Grandmother continued more gently. "Don't ever feel that you have to become stodgy and grave," this with a whimsical little smile, "or try to 'grow-up' too quickly. A truly mature person knows when she can be a child again, and when she needs to act responsibly." She patted her young granddaughter's hand. "Maturity takes time and effort. Don't expect it to come all at once."

Those words took root in Polly's soul, and influenced her for many years to come.

Meggie's "epoch" happened Friday night, after a full day at the Exhibition, seeing and experiencing as much as they could in one day. Grandmother, keen on reproducing her Exhibition trip as much as possible, took them to a concert at the Academy of Music. Though all the girls enjoyed it, for Meggie it was as though a window had opened up into a new world. Hearing the famous soprano—a tiny bit of a woman, looking far too small to contain such a magnificent voice—left her breathless with poignant delight.

"Oh, if only I could sing like that," she sighed to Grandmother afterward.

"You could, with the proper training," Grandmother said. "Your Uncle Patrick says you have great potential."

Before Meggie, tingling all over from the compliment, could respond, Polly piped up.

"But Meggie, I thought you always wanted to stay at Green Gables and take care of Uncle Shirley and Matty? What would be the point of being a concert vocalist if you never did anything with it?"

Seeing Meggie's downcast face, Grandmother gently chided Polly. "We all have dreams, Polly. Don't shatter Meggie's."

Polly apologized sweetly, and nothing more was said on the subject. But Meggie always marked that event as the time from which she first started to think that there might, just might, be something out in the world that could satisfy her as much as Green Gables, and perhaps she would miss out on a great deal if she only ever stayed at home all her life.


	28. Yesterday's Gold

"How would you chicks feel about a little trip?' Shirley asked unexpectedly one blustery November evening.

Matty looked up from his model airplane and Meggie from her book, both taken slightly aback.

"You mean to Glen St. Mary, Papa?" Meggie asked, wondering if Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy had invited them again.

Shirley shook his head. "Guess again," he teased.

"To Boston, to see Grandmamma and Grandfather," Matty guessed.

"One more."

The twins looked at each other perplexedly. "Either visiting Aunt Rilla in Toronto or Auntie Nan in Ottawa," Meggie finally suggested.

"That," Shirley said severely, "was cheating. You squeezed two guesses into one. But no matter; they were both wrong."

"Then where?" Meggie cried.

"I thought perhaps we could go to Lake Placid for a few days."

"Lake Placid … where you and Mama lived and Matty and I were born?"

"The very same," Shirley confirmed. "What do you think?"

"Why?" Matty asked.

"I've always planned on taking you back there sometime, when you were old enough to appreciate it. You'll be thirteen this spring, which is certainly old enough. I'd like you to see something of your past. We can even visit Potsdam, where I worked and went to school while your Mama was in the sanatorium. Lake Placid is famous for winter sports," he added coaxingly. "We can go ice skating on the same rink where Sonja Henie won her second gold metal in '34, and I'll take you cross-country skiing on Mt. Van Hovenberg and show you where I proposed to your Mama, and if the ice holds we can ride on a dogsled across Lake Mirror, and I'll show you the house where you were born … what do you say?"

Meggie's brown eyes danced. She'd never thought much about the place where she and Matty had been born … to her, Green Gables was her only home … but the more Papa talked about it, the more exciting it sounded. "When do we leave?"

Shirley laughed. "How does this weekend sound?"

"I'll start packing immediately." Meggie dashed up the stairs, followed closely by Matty, who was nearly as excited as she. Shirley shook his head.

"If I'd known they would be this eager, I would have suggested this long ago."

* * *

Though the twins had visited their Grandparents Irving in Boston many times, but they had never been in any other part of "the States"—that wicked, dissolute place most of Avonlea's inhabitants despised and admired in equal parts. Thus, as they crossed the St. Lawrence River from Canada into New York State, they were both curious and a bit nervous.

"Will they have accents like Grandmamma?" Meggie whispered to Shirley.

"No," he replied gravely. "Most of the folks around here sound just like Canadians; they're so close to the border, you see."

Though Meggie said nothing more, she couldn't help but feel relieved. Grandmamma Irving's heavy Boston accent always made her feel very countrified and young.

They stayed that night at the Clarkson Inn, a delightfully old-fashioned hotel with four-poster beds in each room, and spent the next day touring the little village of Potsdam.

Shirley showed the children the Catholic orphanage where Auntie Di had learned how to run her own Home; the architecture company where he had worked; Clarkson University, where he had become the first Blythe to graduate from a school _other_ than Redmond; the Raquette River, by whose banks he and Auntie Di had enjoyed many a fine picnic, and the apartment on Elm St. the two had shared for three years. Both children were pleased to get this glimpse into their papa's past. Meggie thought she could almost _see_ him and Auntie Di sauntering down the streets arm-in-arm; Auntie Di's red hair, untouched by any hint of silver, glimmering in the winter sunlight as she stopped to look in a shop window; Papa, looking like an older version of Matty, strong and lithe and brown, patiently adjusting his steps to match hers though his eyes turned eagerly toward White's Hardware, where everyone gathered to share news and talk and find out everything that was happening, as well as buy hardware.

They rented a car and drove to Lake Placid the next day. Shirley was very quiet on the trip up. Despite the bleak landscape and grey sky, he was remembering a September day long ago when the trees on either side of the road flamed with gold and crimson and he had a tiny diamond ring in his pocket awaiting the hand of the loveliest maiden he knew. Many years had passed since that day, but his love for Cecily had never wavered. How he missed her, still!

The bittersweet memories came in fuller force during their two days in Lake Placid. He had never been back to the little town since his wife's death. Had he been alone, the sorrow would have overwhelmed him, but the presence of his children consecrated his grief and turned the painful memories sweet.

"This is the house you were born in," he told them, pointing out a little blue and cream bungalow overlooking Mirror Lake. "I can't believe it is still blue! Your mama and I had two precious years in that house."

The children looked and tried to imagine their father as a young newlywed, bringing his bride home for the first time. Shirley remembered how delighted he and Cecily had been with everything that first year especially, before any problems with her health occurred. Even the days when everything went wrong—the stove smoked, and the bread burned, and the new carpet cleaner left the dirt and took off the nap, and his client insisted on changing the location of the windows in her house _again_—had simply provided them with endless opportunities for laughter. No matter how badly things went, Cecily would look up at him with that glimmer of fun in her deep blue eyes and say, "Just think what a story this will be for our grandchildren!" What a way she'd had of looking at everything!

When the three went cross-country skiing on Mt. Van Hovenberg, Shirley told the twins stories of his and Cecily's wintertime excursions. "Charlotta the Fifth would always have hot chocolate and cookies ready for us when we came back," he remembered. "I wonder what happened to her? I lost touch after moving back to Avonlea. I'll have to ask your Grandfather if he knows where she ended up."

He even pointed out the exact spot where he proposed: right at the summit of the mountain, though a bobsleigh run now stood where they had that day. Matty, it must be admitted, was more interested in the possibility of riding a bobsleigh than hearing the details of his father's proposal, but Meggie was enthralled. Once more, she almost_saw_ her papa on one knee, holding the hand of … but there her vision ended. She couldn't picture her mama. Despite pictures of her that the twins had seen at their Grandparents Irving's house, Meggie had no real idea of what Cecily had looked like. Papa always said she, Meggie, looked like her mama, but that still didn't help much. Cecily was still just a beautiful dream, not even a memory, for the little girl.

The melancholy memories ended when the three went ice skating at the Olympic Center in downtown Lake Placid. Meggie thrilled to be on the same ice where her heroine, Sonja Henie, had won an Olympic gold medal. She danced happily across the ice, dreaming fancifully of competing for Canada in the Olympics. She knew it could never happen, but it was fun just to imagine it might.

Matty enjoyed the outdoor speed skating oval, and there he had _his_ wonder moment when he met Jack Shea and shook the Olympic speed-skating champion's hand.

"He was so nice, Papa," Matty whispered after they had moved past. "And just like anybody else."

Shirley, too, was impressed by the speed-skater's down-to-earth manner and the good-natured twinkle in his eye. "There," he told Matty. "That's something to tell your grandchildren about someday. Your first brush with greatness."

Matty turned his head to gaze at Shea's retreating back. "I'll remember it always," he promised.

* * *

All in all, they had a marvellous time, but the best part of all came when they were back home. They were sitting in the parlour, talking over their trip, when Shirley went upstairs and came down with a large box.

"I've always meant to show these to you," he said. "And someday pass them along. I think the time is now."

He took the lid off the box, releasing the sweet scent of lavender.

"Oh," said Meggie, breathing in. "Did Great-Grandmother Lavender help you pack this?"

"She did," Shirley confirmed. "Right after … after you were born." Which meant right after Cecily's death, but he still couldn't bring himself to talk about her as _dead_ very much.

He began lifting things from the box and passing them along to the twins, who handled each item with awe and reverence.

First came a pair of ice skates and a pair of snowshoes, too small even for Meggie's feet. "Your mama loved winter sports," Shirley reminisced. "She was so happy to live in Lake Placid; I think she would have stayed there even if she hadn't needed to for her health."

"They're so small," Matty said wonderingly. "She must have had tiny little feet."

"She did," Shirley confirmed.

Next came a poetry book bearing the name of Paul Irving as author. On the inside cover was written in a dainty, girlish hand:

_"Father's first published work."_

As Meggie turned the pages gently, she could see little notes here and there, written in the same hand. Her mama had obviously loved Grandfather's poetry very much, judging by the loving comments she made in the margins. It made her feel queer, touching something that her mama had once held in her hands.

Shirley held the next item in his hands for a long moment before holding it up to show the children. It was a gold cuff bracelet of a style popular in the '20s, with runic lines engraved along its length and deep blue lapis lazuli inset here and there.

"I gave this to your mother the first Christmas we knew each other," he finally said in a voice thick with suppressed emotion. "She told me … she wanted …" He shook his head and fell silent, his eyes closing with pain.

Meggie had never seen her father cry before, but even as she watched, two tears slid from beneath his lashes and trailed down his brown cheeks. Matty's hand found its way into hers, and they moved a bit closer together for comfort. Meggie discovered a lump growing in her own throat, and without even looking at Matty she knew he was fighting emotion too.

Shirley opened his eyes, his hands reaching out to touch his children's heads. "Forgive me," he said. "I didn't think this would be so difficult."

"It's all right, Papa," Matty whispered. Meggie couldn't have spoken for the world.

"Your mama," Shirley continued, his voice trembling perceptibly, but his tears done away with, "wanted you children to have something of hers after she was gone. She wanted me to give you this bracelet, Meggie; and Matty, she wanted you to have this."

Setting the bracelet down on the side table, he reached once more into the box and came out with a small jewellery box. He handed it to his son. "Open it."

Matty opened the lid to reveal a simple band of white gold with one small diamond winking up at him.

"She thought you could give it to your future wife," Shirley explained. He handed the bracelet to Meggie who touched it reverently and put it on her slim wrist, where the stones glinted up at her in the lamp light.

"I was going to wait and give both of these to you when you turned sixteen, but … somehow the time just seemed right now."

"Thank you," Matty said, holding the ring tenderly.

Meggie nodded, still unable to speak.

Shirley cleared his throat. "There's only one thing left in here," he continued. He brought out an armful of silver silk which, when shaken out and held up, showed itself to be a slip dress.

"Oh," Meggie gasped, her voice suddenly returning. "That was Mama's wedding dress!"

"How did you know?" Shirley asked her. He had no pictures from his wedding, and he knew that Rachel had put away all pictures of him and Cecily after the latter's passing, so there was nowhere Meggie could have seen Cecily's dress.

"I don't know," Meggie answered, puzzled. "I just knew."

Matty was looking in the box. "Papa," he said. "There's something else in here." He pulled out a square picture frame and handed it to his father.

Shirley's breath caught in his throat. "Grandmother Lavender," he murmured shakily. "She knew I'd want this someday."

Without another word he held it out for the twins to view. They looked, and saw a black and white image of their father as a young man in his uniform, looking lovingly into the face of a small slip of a girl with Meggie's features and Matty's sensitive mouth, dressed in the very same gown that was now in Papa's arms. The love shining in her face was evident even through the grainy picture as she gazed up at Shirley.

"Our wedding day," Shirley said huskily.

* * *

That night, Meggie went to bed with Cecily's bracelet on her bedside table where she'd see it as soon as her eyes opened the next morning. And in her dreams, she finally saw her mother's face, laughing and joyful. At long last, Cecily had become real.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** John "Jack" Shea was the first double gold medalist in the history of the Winter Olympics, winning both the 500 and the 1500 meter speed-skating competitions. His son Jim Shea Sr. competed in the Nordic combined and cross-country skiing in the 1964 Olympics, and his grandson Jimmy Shea won the gold medal in the Skeleton in 2002, making the Shea family the first three-generation family of Olympic competitors. Jack Shea died in 2002 at age 91, just weeks before his grandson won the Skeleton. _


	29. The Distant Drums

Only by a few sporadic bright spots enlivened that bleak winter of 1938. The adults started to look grim whenever Europe was mentioned. The name "Hitler" was muttered with black looks, especially after he took over control of the German military and started sacking leaders who didn't conform to his views.

"Austria capitulated," Uncle Patrick reported gloomily one February afternoon. "They're allowing the Nazi party greater participation in their government. Hitler threatened to invade if they didn't agree, and the Chancellor caved in under the pressure."

Shirley set his jaw. "Didn't we fight a war just so this sort of thing couldn't happen?" he asked with an unusual bitter note in his voice. "What's the League of Nations doing about all this?"

"Nothing," Uncle Patrick agreed, his normally cheerful countenance set with anger. "How many lives did we give, and then to see it all come to this …" he turned away, shaking his head.

The children listened to all this with alarm. Why, there couldn't possibly be another war, could there? Auntie Di, who was as keen and eager about world news as anyone, saw their dismayed faces and tried to lighten the subject.

"What a pity dear old Susan Baker isn't still alive," she said, trying to laugh. "She once threatened to spank the Kaiser; I shudder to think what she would do to Hitler. She'd soon straighten all this out!"

Though Shirley smiled at this remembrance, the children, who had never known Susan except through anecdotes, were not reassured.

"Mum," Polly said, her voice quavering, "What would happen in there was another war? Would Peter and Bran have to go fight?"

Uncle Patrick swept her into his arms as though she were still a little girl instead of an almost-fifteen-year-old. "Don't go fretting over that, dear one. Whatever happens, God is still in heaven, and He won't let anything happen outside of His plan. Just you remember that."

And Polly, instead of squirming away in embarrassment like she might have a year ago, now snuggled into her father's lap and rested her glossy head on his shoulder.

The world situation grew yet more grim in March, when Germany, in direct defiance on the Treaty of Versailles, annexed Austria; thankfully, visitors from afar took the Avonlea folks' minds off such matters.

Tricia and Blair Giraud, old and dear friends of Auntie Di's, were visiting the Island for a few weeks for a family reunion in Carlisle, Blair's family homestead. One gloomy afternoon full of wet winds and threatening clouds, Tricia arrived at Tanglewood to shed a little cheer and bounce into their lives. Meggie was spending the day with Polly, as the two girls were going over their spring wardrobes, and so was able to witness the joyful reunion.

"Tricia darling!" Auntie Di exclaimed, hugging her friend. "You look marvellous. How do you do it? You haven't aged a bit."

"Nor have you," laughed the younger woman. "Oh Di, I've missed you so! And this is little Polly? My dear, I never would have recognized you! The last time I saw you, you were a three-year-old tot carrying flowers at my wedding. And now here you are, all grown up. My, I feel old."

Polly smiled in some confusion. "I'm afraid I don't remember you very well," she confessed.

"No reason you should," Tricia assured her. "And who is this lovely young woman?"

Auntie Di put her arm around Meggie. "You remember me telling you about my brother Shirley's twins. This is his Meggie."

Tricia smiled kindly at the girl. "I'm so pleased to meet you."

"And I you," Meggie replied sincerely. She took an instant liking to this charming woman with the sparkling hazel eyes and warm, full smile. She and Polly willingly abandoned the knotty problem of how they were to fit into last year's clothes to listen to their elders catching up on the last twelve years of their lives.

"Blair and I have four children now," Tricia said. "Graham, the little boy we adopted a few years after our marriage—he's about your age, Meggie, fourteen."

"I'm not quite thirteen," Meggie corrected her.

"No!" Tricia looked astonished. "You seem so much older."

Meggie wasn't quite sure whether to be pleased or bothered by this, but dismissed it as Tricia continued.

"Then there's Rich, at nine; Larry, at six; and Baby Sally, our lone girl, age two." She giggled. "It doesn't seem that odd living it, but listing them off—doesn't it sound too ridiculous to think of me as the mother of four?"

"Not at all," Auntie Di responded fondly. "You were born to be a mother, Tricia."

Tricia waved away the compliment. "But tell me about your life! I'm still bitter over the fact that I missed your wedding to Patrick. How_could_ you get married while Blair and I were in France?"

"As I told you at the time, my friend, I had very little say over when, where, or how my wedding happened," Auntie Di said dryly. "But we're doing well. Peter is over in England now, working his way through Cambridge."

"Cambridge! Not that it surprises me; he always was a determined laddie. I can see that Polly is growing up into a beautiful young lady. And Bran?"

That young man, just now arrived home from a day spent wandering around Lantern Hill wishing the Stuarts were there already, answered for himself. "Bran is waiting to figure out what to do with his life."

Tricia rose to her feet gracefully. "Do you remember me, Bran?"

His eyes twinkled. "Of course, Aunt Tricia. I remember how you used to scream when Pierre, Paulette and I hid dead mice in your bed!"

She laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately. "You were wretches, the three of you, but you prepared me well for having four mischief-makers of my own! Though Graham isn't a troublemaker at all; in fact, he sometimes strikes me as being far too serious for a boy of fourteen. Always reading poetry or practicing his music … you'd think he was Blair's natural son instead of adopted, they're so much alike."

"How are Alan and Anna and Katia?" Auntie Di now asked.

Tricia beamed. "Katia is engaged!"

"Our little Katia!"

"Yes, our little Katia. To a wonderful young man from Saskatchewan. Alan and Anna are heartbroken that she's going to be moving so far away from them, but they like David very much. And Katia herself is so in love! It's charming to see them together."

"I remember Katia," Bran said, sitting down next to Polly and throwing his arm over her shoulder. "She was always sweet."

Polly tossed his arm away. "I hardly remember anyone from the Home," she said. "It was such a long time ago."

"Some days it seems a lifetime ago," Auntie Di mused.

* * *

April came and went; the twins' thirteenth birthday passed without much comment. Matty was grown tall and sturdy, still looking like his father as a young man, yet with his mother's sensitive spirit flashing out here and there—in his smile, in the way his eyes gleamed at some glimpse of hidden beauty, in the quiet way he listened to others and cared about them. Meggie, too, was still Cecily's daughter, but even she was starting to show signs of developing her own unique personality. She was already taller than Cecily, and though slim and dainty, had none of her mother's frailties. Her brown eyes, always so dreamy in her childhood, were now often grave and thoughtful as she entered her girlhood and began to see the world in a different light. She still loved to dream and indulge in fancies, but the world insisted on intruding into her idyllic world, and she was starting to recognise that she couldn't shut it out forever, however much she might wish to.

Peter sent two letters home in May: one to his mother and father, and one to Meggie.

_Dear chum, _he wrote,

_Mother and Dad will be hearing this from me as well, but I wanted to tell you separately. I've joined the RAF, Meggie. War is coming. Do you remember us talking about this two years ago? I told you then I was afraid this was coming. The European nations are trying to patch things up, but Hitler won't be stopped by _talking_. We have to fight him, Meggie—for the sake of the world, not just Europe. This is more than just political lines. Real people are being hurt. We have to stop him._

_I wish I didn't have to join the RAF—I wish I didn't feel it was my duty. I love Cambridge—love England—love Lincoln, the Reed estate—but I can't stay here, hiding away from the world. I have a duty to protect all this that I love._

_Freddie, whom I would have thought would disapprove, actually agrees with me. The world situation has actually been shaking him out of his self-induced lethargy. He wants to join up as well, but so far Leah has convinced him to stay at home. She says that his duties as Earl outweigh his duties to the world at large. I think she's just afraid he'll get hurt. Jack hasn't said much—he remembers the last war so clearly still. He doesn't want Freddie to suffer as he did—but he also thinks that Freddie needs to make that choice for himself._

_Jocelyn hasn't said much one way or the other. I wish she would. Although I know I'm doing the right thing—I would still like her approval. _

_Do _you_ understand, Meggie? I hope you do. I miss you._

_Love, Peter._

Auntie Di was crushed by the news. "My Peter," she said dazedly. "My little boy—the son of my heart. Oh Patrick, what's happened to this world?"

Uncle Patrick, with a face almost as drawn as hers, put his arms around her and tried to comfort her. Polly crept away to Meggie for support.

"You think Peter's just exaggerating, don't you?" she asked anxiously. "You don't really think there will be another war? He'll serve his time in the RAF and then come home again, laughing at himself for being such a scare-monger."

Meggie swallowed her doubts. "Of course," she assured her cousin.

Bran responded differently. He was furious.

"With a brain like his, wasting himself on the RAF," he sputtered incoherently. "What if there is a war? What then? England has plenty of idiots to fight for her. A mind like Peter's—it's criminal to throw it away. His duty—ha! He has a duty to develop his skills and gifts to their fullest extent to make the world a better place, not turn into a mindless drone in the military. Why couldn't he have left it to me? I'd go fight in his place if needed. I'm a good-for-nothing lazybones anyway. I might as well join up as not. But Peter …" he trailed off into outraged silence.

Shirley could only look at his son and thank God that he was only thirteen … and pray for his eldest nephew, that his fears would prove to be groundless.


	30. Passing Days

The summer passed languidly enough. Polly passed her Queen's entrance exams and began preparing to go to Charlottetown in September. She had no real interest in Queen's—her heart was still set on becoming an actress—but Auntie Di had insisted. Two years at Queen's, and then Polly was free to choose whatever university she wished to attend. If that was an acting school, then so be it, but she needed the preparatory school training first.

Peter was training in the RAF Fighter Command and, surprisingly, loving it. For the first time in his life, he found something besides history that could send a thrill through his veins. He wrote to Meggie that the very first time he went up in a fighter, he expected to be scared senseless, but instead, he suddenly felt free for the first time in his life. No pressures, no worries, no earthly cares … everything dropped away.

_And I feel less guilty this way. I was offered a position in Bomber Command, but I couldn't bring myself to accept it. How could I be the one to drop bombs on innocent people, people who had no way of fighting back? Up here, you know who your enemy is, and you are all engaged in the same battle. There's more fairness about it._

_At least, I assume so. Obviously, I've not seen combat yet. And oh, Meggie, when I think about it, I heartily wish myself back home in Avonlea, enjoying a quiet summer's picnic with you and the rest at Echo Lodge. Do any of you go there anymore? How I miss it! Even more than I miss Tanglewood, but don't tell Mum that. I told Jocelyn all about it one day—my last day of work for her father, actually. I was weeding the rose garden (they had been Mrs. Reed's pride and joy), and she came out to help me. She didn't say much at all, and suddenly I just found myself telling her all about Avonlea and Echo Lodge and even you, little faun. She listened so sympathetically (which is rather unusual for Jocelyn—she's not the most sympathetic of characters) and at the end told me I was a fool for leaving everything behind to come over here. She was smiling, though, so I think she just wanted to show me that she understood what a sacrifice it was for me to leave._

_Meggie, I don't think _I _realised at the time what I was sacrificing. I know now, though, now that I'm immersed in this world of warcraft, so far removed from the peace and calm of home. I understand it—and it's worth it._

Meggie put the letter down with a sigh. Peter seemed so far away right now. Polly was going to be gone in the fall, and then what would life be like in Avonlea? She had never regretted not making any close friends outside her own family, but right now she wished wistfully that she had one girl friend her own age, someone she could talk to about things, and who wasn't leaving. She and Matty were still as close as ever, but … there were some things one just couldn't talk about with a boy, even if he was one's twin.

Auntie Di offered to help Meggie prepare for Queen's herself (the schoolteacher, though far kinder than Miss Craig, was somewhat inefficient), but Meggie declined politely. She still didn't want to think about leaving Green Gables, although there were times when she felt stifled. It reminded her of that stormy afternoon two years ago when she and the cousins had had their picnic on the north shore and met Jane Stuart. She still remembered looking out across that wild ocean and having something in her soul leap to meet it. Though she loved her home, she had moments every now and then where she just wanted to rush out into that stormy water and escape from everything comfortable and calm and staid.

Shirley, though wisely not insisting on further schooling for either of the twins (as Matty still insisted he only wanted to be a farmer, he also thought Queen's was an unnecessary expense), saw that half-frantic look in his daughter's eyes at times, and knew that a change was coming. Part of him wanted to keep her with him, a little girl, safe at home forever; but he also rejoiced that she was growing up and getting ready to spread her wings and fly. He only hoped she wouldn't fly too far and for too long.

* * *

With fall came a quick visit to the Glen manse. Aunt Betsy was expecting a baby in the spring and didn't think she'd be up for many more visits in the coming months, so she wanted to have Meggie come now while she was still free to spend time with her. So much had the twins developed that Meggie could view a separation of a few night from Matty with only a couple of heartfelt sighs. He'd been invited, too, but refused to leave Green Gables during the harvest.

Baby Katy was now toddling around on her own two feet and babbling constantly. Only Lily—who had held to her promise of helping every day—and Aunt Una could understand half her words, but she rarely stopped talking. Despite the sweet mother-influence she had in Aunt Una, Katy was a sharp, loud, fiercely independent little thing, screaming when anyone tried to hold her or cuddle, and insisting on learning new things by herself.

"She fell at least a dozen times a day when she was first learning to walk," Lily told Meggie. "She'd scream every time, but if any of us tried to pick her up, she'd scream even louder. She had to learn how to do it by herself."

Most of the aunts were somewhat dismayed by this self-willed vein, but Aunt Betsy rather approved.

"It's better for her to learn how to do things on her own instead of being coddled all the time," she declared. "As long as we can train her how to control her will and break that selfish streak she has, she'll be a strong-minded, good-hearted woman."

Meggie still didn't think she was particularly beautiful, despite Lily's insistence that Katy was the darlingest baby ever born, but she liked the narrow, triangular face with its bright mischievous eyes and wide mouth. Even the little wisps of black hair that _would_ stand straight up in defiance of all Aunt Una's combing had their own unique charm. Katy certainly had more personality than most babies her age.

Uncle Bruce was nearly beside himself with joy at the prospect of a child of his own. He kissed Aunt Betsy several times a day (regardless of who was watching, a process that scandalized the ladies of the church but delighted his nieces), and read to her slightly-swollen belly every night before bed. He was currently working his way through the_Winnie-the-Pooh_ stories. Aunt Betsy laughed at him tolerantly, but confessed to Meggie that she was thankful he was so excited.

"I was a little worried—with his father being so ill, and the church taking up so much of his time—I was afraid he would look at the baby as a nuisance. But he's so happy, and I'm happy that he is!"

Uncle Bruce himself took Meggie aside one day to talk to her about the baby. "Isn't it such a gift from God?" he demanded. "We weren't even thinking about a baby, but He gifted us with one. What do you think it will be: a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know," Meggie answered honestly.

"Not that I care," Uncle Bruce continued, looking dreamily up at the crimson leaves of the maple. They had been walking through Rainbow Valley and were now sitting underneath a tree to rest. "I'll love either one. I don't feel a need to have a son to carry on my name, like so many. The Meredith name has already passed to the next generation, thanks to Jerry's two boys, and besides, as Shakespeare says, what's in a name? What matters most is how this child develops as a _person_." He focused his gaze back on Meggie, his dark eyes suddenly concerned. "Do you think I'll be a good father, Joanna?"

"Of course you will!" Meggie answered, amazed that he could even ask such a question.

He smiled. "Thank you for that. I hope—I pray I will, but some days I have my doubts. Of course, I know Betsy will be a good mother." He smiled whimsically. "Do you think you'll ever be a mother, Joanna? Do you dream about it as much as Lily and Polly do?"

Meggie frowned pensively. "I—don't—know," she answered slowly, thinking it out as she spoke. "I used to think—I never wanted to marry. And I still don't like the idea of leaving Papa and Green Gables—but I'm starting to realise that I can't stay a little girl forever. Even if I wanted to," she added, smiling frankly, "which I'm not so certain I do anymore. Part of me still does—but part of me is starting to get excited about growing up."

Uncle Bruce touched her shining chestnut hair tenderly. "You're a remarkable little woman, Joanna. Whatever else may change in your life, don't ever change who you are."

"Why Uncle Bruce, how could I do that?"

He laughed. "I don't suppose you ever can—really, but many girls try to. They don't like who they are and try to become somebody else, usually ending in disaster."

"Well," Meggie said, after mulling this over for a few moments. "I certainly don't think I'm perfect, but I like being me, imperfections and all. Even if I grow up, I don't want to change that."

"Good." Uncle Bruce rose to his feet. "I think, if I need tips on how to be a good father, I should call on your papa. He seems to have done a fairly good job," with a teasing glint in his eyes and a merry note in his voice.

Meggie laughed, teasing back. "That's because he had extraordinary material to work with!"

Uncle Bruce's laughter could be heard ringing all the way back to the manse.

* * *

In December, unexpectedly, Grandmamma and Grandfather Irving wrote to ask if they could spend Christmas at Green Gables. Shirley, unfailingly courteous, agreed as calmly as though they had been in the habit of visiting Avonlea for years—which they weren't. In fact, Meggie couldn't remember them ever visiting.

"They haven't," Shirley confirmed when she mentioned this. "Your grandfather would have liked to come back a few times, but your grandmamma just couldn't bring herself to. She said it would bring back too many painful memories."

Matty frowned. "But they only visited here occasionally with Mama. Why would Avonlea hold more painful memories than Boston? They _lived_ in Boston."

Shirley was silent for a moment. Then he said: "The plain truth is that your grandmamma was very angry with me after your mama died. She thought that I didn't care enough …" he shook his head. "Well. At any rate, since this is where Cecily and I met, this is where all her bad memories start. The house in Boston holds memories of Cecily as a child and young girl … _their_ Cecily. This is where she became," he smiled reminiscently, "_my_ Cecily."

"How could Grandmamma think you didn't care about Mama?" Meggie asked indignantly. "Everyone knows how much you loved her."

"People grieve in different ways, my heart," Shirley said softly. "Cecily was your grandparents' only child, and they doted on her. Rachel—your grandmamma—didn't even really want to let her go to marry me. She only agreed because she saw how happy Cecily was. And then when she got sick again, your grandmamma went into a deep despair. Because I didn't despair as well, she thought I didn't care. She was hurt and angry, and I was a convenient target. I don't hold it against her."

Meggie was still somewhat ruffled, but she tried to be gracious. At least this explained a certain _hauteur_ in Grandmamma's attitude toward Papa. Meggie had never really understood it before.

"So why do they want to come now?" asked the practical Matty.

Shirley shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose we'll find out soon enough."


	31. Shirley's Decision

Though he had some concerns regarding Rachel and Paul's visit, Shirley was pleasantly surprised when they arrived. Paul was as courteous as ever, and even Rachel seemed to have softened toward him. She kissed his cheek when they got off the train and complimented him on what a wonderful job he was doing raising Meggie and Matty.

"So many young people these days are flighty, senseless things," she told him. "But those two," nodding out the kitchen window at the twins, who were involved in an energetic snowball fight against Bran and Polly, "are polite, kind, well-mannered … they were adorable as children, but I'm not sure but what I like them even better now, as responsible young adults."

Such praise ought to have flattered Shirley, but it only succeeded in making him apprehensive. He knew Rachel of old. She was like a cat in many aspects—not _catty_, mind you, but resembling a large, fluffy puss: always determined to get her own way in the most subtle_and_ obvious ways, and purring complacently until she needed to unsheathe her claws. He didn't think she would use some fulsome flattery unless she was determined to get something out of him.

Paul, oblivious as usual to his wife's machinations, also watched his grandchildren with pleasure. "They're healthy and strong, thank God. We can all be thankful for that."

And Shirley had no uneasiness as he agreed heartily with his father-in-law.

Di and Patrick had invited them all over for Christmas Eve. Shirley wasn't sure if Paul and Rachel would want to spend time with anyone but the Green Gables folks, but they surprised him again by accepting the invitation. Rachel put herself out to be agreeable; chatting pleasantly with Patrick about music, helping Di bring trays of goodies in from the kitchen, complimenting Polly on her stunning white velvet gown, above which her auburn hair shone with warm lustre.

Paul "took" to Bran from the first; he seated himself next to that young man early in the evening and they happily discussed ancient mythology and poetry. Shirley overheard them arguing amicably over different translations of Beowulf, each intently defending his own particular preference.

It was a lovely evening, ending with Christmas carols around the piano. Shirley never tired of hearing Patrick play: his friend had a way of caressing the keys in the gentlest manner possible to get the softest and most pure notes out of them. No musician himself, Shirley still recognized the incredible talent Patrick had.

"My word," Rachel breathed. "He ought to be a concert pianist. Why is he wasting himself away here?"

She spoke quietly, but Di still overheard her. "Because this is his home," she answered simply.

Rachel's smile was one of patronizing pity. Shirley thought it was fortunate that Di had turned her eyes back to Patrick's form at the piano and so didn't see it; otherwise their charming evening might have been violently disturbed.

Just before they ended, Patrick motioned to Meggie. "Come up here and sing for us," he invited.

Meggie crimsoned prettily. "Oh no, Uncle Patrick I don't want to show off," she said shyly.

"Nonsense," Rachel intervened before anyone else could say a word. "We're all family, child. No need to be shy around us."

Meggie turned pleading eyes to her father. "You don't have to sing if you don't want to," he told her, "but it would bring your grandparents a great deal of pleasure to hear you—and the rest of us, too," he added with a smile.

Swallowing her bashfulness, Meggie rose from her seat to stand beside Uncle Patrick. "What shall I sing?" she asked him.

"The Coventry Carol," he answered at once. "You do that so beautifully."

She nodded and waited for him to play the opening bars. Shirley watched her with quiet pride. She was so like her mother—and yet so different. As tall and slim as a young birch tree, she carried herself with natural grace; holding her head high, not with pride, but with simple dignity. She was so full of joy, he thought, and wondered sadly if that joy would be dimmed by the approaching threat of war. Standing there glowing in a frock of soft pink wool, her chestnut curls bound tightly to her head in a French braid, innocence and purity shone out through her delicate features with exquisite clarity.

And then she began to sing, and Shirley closed his eyes and let the beauty of her high, sweet voice wash over him.

* * *

Christmas itself was a simple enough affair. After the gift-opening in the morning and the elaborate dinner Meggie and Rachel had prepared, the twins took their grandfather on the long but lovely walk to revisit Echo Lodge. Shirley and Rachel were invited to come along, but Shirley offered to clean the kitchen so they could make fudge that evening, and Rachel claimed she needed a nap.

Shirley suspected her of other motives, hence it came as no surprise when she entered the kitchen but five minutes after the other three left, her eyes bright with determination.

"Would you like a hand with those dishes?" was all she said at first.

"Thank you," Shirley accepted. She picked up a dishtowel and began drying.

"You and I have not always been on the best of terms," she began abruptly after several long, silent moments.

Shirley said nothing to this obvious statement.

Rachel looked disconcerted at his silence, but drew a deep breath and kept going. "But I want you to know that I really do think you have done a fine job with my grandchildren. And I am wondering what your plans are for their futures?"

"I am leaving their futures up to them," he replied, wondering where this was leading.

"Ah. I—that is, Paul and I—have a proposition for you."

Shirley waited, his nerves tingling.

"We would like to pay for their future education."

Shirley released a breath. That wasn't as bad as he had feared. He'd been afraid she was going to suggest they all move to Boston, as she had done once after Cecily's death. "That's very generous of you, Rachel. I know right now neither of them has much interest in college, but if that changes as they get older, I'm sure …"

She cut him off. "That's not exactly what I meant."

He eyed her warily.

"We want them to be able to attend the finest universities possible. No offence, but the Island schooling simply isn't adequate to that end. Therefore, we would like them to go to preparatory schools. Next year." She saw the look on his face and hurried on. "Naturally, we would like them near us, but Paul didn't think you would appreciate having them so far from home, so I am suggesting a compromise. Toronto has a very fine boys' school—Upper Canada College—which Matty could attend, and which would prepare him very adequately for any university. We had thought of finding a similar girls' school for Meggie, but after hearing her sing last night, I think it would be wiser to send her to the Toronto Conservatory of Music. She can have proper musical training to develop her considerable talents, and then she can either continue there or go on to a different college after four years. I know it's not Avonlea, but at least you have family there who can keep an eye on them, and I have friends who will gladly look out for their well-being, and they will be getting the opportunities they deserve to go further with their lives than a simple farm."

"And if they prefer to stay on this simple farm?" Shirley asked quietly.

"Well, of course they think that now, because they've never known anything different. But they are children, Shirley. They don't know what's best for them. We—their father and grandparents—have to make that choice. It is our responsibility." The smug look on her face suggested she thought she had found an unbeatable argument.

Shirley dried his hands on a towel. He needed a moment to think all this over. The thought of sending both his children—his most precious treasures—out into the world, alone, at age fourteen was nearly impossible to accept. He knew he couldn't keep them at Green Gables forever, but he hadn't anticipated this drastic of a change. He wasn't sure he was ready.

Besides, whatever Rachel said about duty, he needed to consider their reactions, too. Neither of them wanted to leave. Could he really force them to do something they hated, just for some amorphous future good? And would there be any point in it anyway, or would their anger at being forced to leave home simply turn them resentful?

Rachel sat down at the kitchen table to watch him think. Finally, he tossed the towel aside and faced her.

"One year."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I agree to try this plan of yours for one year. After that, it is up to the children. If they wish to continue, they may do so. If not, I will allow them to come home."

Rachel opened her mouth mutinously, took in Shirley's determined face, and closed it again. "Very well," she agreed silkily after a moment. "We will try it for one year. Shall we tell the children tonight?"

"No," said Shirley grimly, staring out at the fields. "There's no sense in ruining their Christmas as well. I'll tell them after you leave tomorrow."

* * *

Accordingly, the next day after seeing Rachel and Paul off to the train station, Shirley gathered the twins in the parlour.

"You look serious, Papa," Matty said. "Is something wrong?"

"Did Grandmamma say something to you yesterday?" Meggie wanted to know, ready to come to his defence.

Shirley looked at their dear faces, his heart breaking within him. How could he bear to let them go? It was only for a year, he reminded himself sternly. Though Rachel obviously thought that after a taste of "higher" life they wouldn't want to come back, Shirley thought he knew his children better than that. They weren't to be tempted by the glamour of the city. No, their hearts were here, as his was, in the rich fields and red shores of Prince Edward Island.

"She did say something," he began, "but not in the manner you think." He proceeded to tell them of the decision for their schooling. As he'd expected, dismay was their first reaction.

"Leave here for an entire year!" Meggie cried, while Matty sat speechless in horror. "Oh Papa, how could you? Please don't make us go!"

"I'm sorry," he told her sincerely.

She rushed on heedlessly. "Why do we need more schooling, anyway? We're going to stay here all our lives. Matty doesn't need to go to some fancy boys' school to know how to become a farmer, and I don't need anything to teach me how to take care of you. It isn't fair, Papa!"

"You don't really think this is a good idea, do you, Papa?" Matty joined in, having finally found his voice.

Shirley was resolute. "It would not have been my choice," he admitted frankly. "Your grandmother, however, made some good points. Just because you think now that this is all you want doesn't mean you will always feel that way. Once you are exposed to new ideas and possibilities, you may find there's something else you want to do or be. I don't want you to leave—certainly not!—but I do want you to have every opportunity available. And it's only for one year. If you find you absolutely hate it, you can come home."

"I already know I'll hate it," Meggie said, in tears. "I won't go—I won't—I _hate_ Grandmamma for making you think it's for the best!"

With that, she rushed out of the room and up the stairs, where the two still seated could hear her bedroom door shut with a violence it had never before received at her hand. Shirley looked at Matty.

"Do you feel that same way?"

Matty shook his head. "There's no point," he said dully. "You've already decided we are to go. I'll just be wasting my energy being angry about it."

"It might not be so bad," Shirley said, trying to reassure himself as much as his son.

Matty rose to his feet slowly. "It might not," he conceded. "But it probably will." With that, he left as well, going up the stairs to commiserate with his sister.

Left alone, Shirley buried his head in his hands. "Cecily, what am I going to do without them?"


	32. Acceptance

Meggie buried her face in her bed quilt, pressing her knees into the hard wooden floor unheedingly as she sobbed out her grief and disappointment. How could this happen? How could Papa agree to send them away? For just a moment, resentment against her father stirred in Meggie's breast.

That sensation was unfamiliar enough to jolt her out of her self-pity. It wasn't as though Papa _wanted_ to send them away. Meggie had seen the sorrow on his eyes as he told them the news. No, it was Grandmamma who was behind all this. _She_ was the one making them all miserable.

Matty slipped in the room quietly. He sat down on the bed next to his sister's head. Neither said anything for a moment. Meggie got up from the floor where she'd flung herself upon first entering the room and sat down next to her brother, leaning her head against his sturdy shoulder.

"It isn't even leaving here that's the worst," he finally said, as though carrying on a conversation they had started some time ago.

"No," Meggie agreed, her voice trembling as the tears she couldn't suppress slid down her cheeks.

"It's leaving Papa."

"And each other."

They stared at each other hopelessly. Meggie sniffed and looked away, out her window at the beautiful Sakura, covered now in fluffy white snow along every bough.

"He doesn't want us to go, either."

"I know," Matty said. "He looked so … _old_ when I left him."

Shame pricked at Meggie's conscience. She had been so wrapped up in her own anger and grief that she hadn't even thought about how difficult this must be for her father. She thought for a moment of Peter—of Uncle Bruce—and of her own dear mama. She bit her lip as the shame grew and flooded her entire being. How could she have acted so selfishly?

She resolved to change her attitude at once. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she turned back to her twin.

"We'll be all right," she said, willing herself to believe it. "It's only for a year. And Aunt Rilla will be there, and Jane … and we can come home for Christmas." She grasped Matty's hand. "We'll just have to endure it."

She saw by the change in his countenance that he understood. "You're right," he agreed. "It isn't as though we're going of to war or something, like Papa and the uncles did when they were younger. This won't be the end of everything."

"Who knows," Meggie suggested, looking for positive aspects, "parts of it might not be so bad. I'll be able to have more vocal training, like I dreamed about, and you …"

"Education isn't a bad thing for a farmer," Matty supplied. "Besides, Gil is enrolled at Upper Canada College. He'll be a few years ahead of me, but at least I'll see him. And you might make some friends, too."

"I _was_ just thinking how lonely it was going to be around here with Polly gone," Meggie admitted. "And we'll be in the same city, so we can see each other on weekends."

"And we'll be so busy with our studies during the week we won't even have much time to miss each other or Papa."

"Or home," Meggie said softly. She gave herself a mental shake. Therein lay the way back to self-indulgent pity, and she refused to travel down that path again. She stood up.

"Let's go downstairs and tell Papa we're sorry. Or," she corrected, "that I'm sorry. You didn't say anything you need to be sorry for."

"Yes I do," Matty admitted sheepishly. "I wasn't quite as … uh … violent as you, but I still let him know how upset I was."

Hand-in-hand, they went downstairs. Looking into the parlor, Meggie saw her papa sitting with his hands over his face, elbows resting on knees. An enormous wave of remorse crashed over her at his dejected figure.

She rushed into the room and flung herself down on her knees beside his chair. "Oh Papa," she murmured, bursting into a fresh batch of tears. "I'm sorry. I'll go … I won't complain … please forgive me."

She felt a gentle hand touch her head. Looking up, she saw Papa smiling at her. "My little Meggie," he said. "I can't call you that anymore, can I? You are growing up … growing into a lovely, strong young woman."

Matty now entered the room. "I'm sorry too, Papa," he said. "We shouldn't have taken out our frustration on you. We still don't particularly _like_ the thought of going away, but we know you wouldn't do it if you didn't think it was for the best."

"So we'll go for a year," Meggie said. "And we won't feel sorry for ourselves anymore."

"My two philosophers!" Papa said, laughing in relief. "We'll all three be philosophers together. I've just been sitting here feeling sorry for _myself_, thinking about how miserable I was and was making you. So we'll look for the good and endure the bad, and when the year is over we can all congratulate ourselves on how bravely we acquitted our duty." He handed Meggie his handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

"And in the meantime, let's enjoy this time we have left. These next few months—from January to September—will be our golden time, the time when we build the memories that will comfort us during the lonely months to follow. How does that sound?"

Matty grinned. "Sounds good to me."

"And you, Meggie?"

Meggie's face looked like a wind-tossed rose: wet, shaken, but shining and beautiful. "Oh, yes," she agreed.

It was still fairly early, but they were all tired from the previous day's celebrations and the unusual emotions of this day, so they had their supper and went right to bed. As Meggie rose from saying her prayers (with an extra penitent plea for forgiveness of her cowardly and selfish behavior, and a request for strength in the days to come), someone knocked gently on her door.

"Come in," she called, and watched as her father entered.

"Meggie-love," he said seriously. "I just need to make sure you're not still angry at your grandmamma."

Meggie bit her lip.

"Don't hold it in," Papa said astutely. "If you are angry, it'll only make it worse to let it fester."

"I am still a bit upset," Meggie admitted. "I know that Grandfather wouldn't ask us to leave you for some schooling. This is all her idea, and knowing that she doesn't like you makes me wonder if she didn't come up with this just to separate us … but that's just my emotions," she conceded with a half-hearted smile. "Deep down, I know she loves us and wants what's best for us. Just like you. I just wish she'd let _us_—the three of us—decide what's best, without any interference from her."

Papa chuckled. "I confess to feeling something similar myself, Meggie. But we'll try it her way for a year, eh? After all, what's a year's separation, compared to the many years we've had and will have in our lives? I'm glad you're not holding a grudge," he continued seriously. "Hatred only poisons the one who hates. After a while it becomes a habit … it takes over … and you can't control it any more. Don't ever let it take root in your heart. Stay pure, my child."

"I will," Meggie promised with all her being. And as she crawled beneath the sheets of her little white bed, she sent up an extra prayer for Grandmamma Irving … and asked that her cruel action in separating their family_not_ be held against her.


	33. Additions and Subtractions

Though the Blythes did their best to have their "happy year" before the twins left, the world insisted on intruding into their idyllic world. With the start of the Slovak-Hungarian War in late March and the steady withdrawal of many European nations from the League of Nations, the possibility of war became ever stronger and grimmer.

Still, Europe was far away and in the spring came two exciting events that helped shed a little joy on their lives.

The first was one that only affected them indirectly: the visit of King George and Queen Elizabeth to Canada. It was the first time in all of history that a British monarch had visited their land, and though the possibility of them reaching Avonlea was slim, all the villagers were excited over the trip. Little Union Jacks suddenly sprouted on people's front porches, and it was all anyone spoke about for weeks.

"I suppose you'll be going up to Ottawa to stay with Nan and Jerry during the king's visit?" Mrs. Annabelle Andrews asked Auntie Di with a sniff at a quilting of the Ladies' Aid.

Auntie Di laughed. "I? Not at all! I've never been one to fawn over royalty, you know."

Meggie, sitting quietly in the corner stitching, knew that all too well. It was family lore that Auntie Di had almost had to close her Home because she neglected to pay proper homage to Toronto's elite.

"I did hear that your mother and father were going, though," Mrs. Annabelle continued.

"And why not?" Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson defended them. Though by far the eldest of all the ladies present, her quilting was still the finest and her ears and tongue equally sharp. "If I had a son or daughter there, I'd go myself! It isn't every day one gets the opportunity to meet royalty."

"Oh, I doubt they'll meet the king or queen," Auntie Di said. "But Nan's been after them to visit for ages and they thought that as this would probably be their only chance to see our king before they die, now would be a good time to go."

"Is it true that Mr. Meredith will meet them?" asked Mrs. Davison, a young, stylish mother who had just recently moved to Avonlea with her husband and baby son.

"Mother and Father?" Auntie Di asked, willfully misinterpreting the indefinite pronoun. "Yes, I'm sure Jerry will meet them at the station when they arrive."

Many women might have blushed or withdrawn under that dig, but Mrs. Davison just laughed. "No, I mean the king and queen."

Before Auntie Di could reply, Stella Drew, one of Avonlea's "old maids," answered. "Of course he will! He's an MP, isn't he? There'll probably be a reception, and he and Mrs. Meredith will go, and maybe even their children."

All eyes turned to Auntie Di for confirmation.

"Well, yes," she said reluctantly, hating to contribute to any gossip about her family. "Jerry and Nan and Blythe, at least. I think Johnny and Dee are probably still too young."

"To think of meeting a queen," sighed Stella dreamily.

"Nan Meredith always did think herself a step or two above the rest of us," Mrs. Annabelle muttered. "Now she'll be more unbearable than ever."

Before Auntie Di, bristling at that slur on her sister's character, could respond, Mrs. Craig turned the subject to less inflammatory topics.

"Speaking of the Merediths, is it true that old Rev. Meredith is failing fast, Di? Peter heard at the last meeting of Presbytery that he wasn't expected to last much longer."

Auntie Di and Meggie sighed in unison. Rev. Meredith was such an integral part of their family that they hated to think of him leaving them, even for Heaven.

"I'm afraid so," Auntie Di confirmed. "Both Father and Jem say his heart won't hold out much longer. Betsy's hoping he'll hang on long enough for the baby's birth, at least."

Mrs. Craig smiled. Considered a great beauty in her youth, she had filled out and reddened as the years went by, turning into merely a pleasant-looking woman, but she still had a charming smile. "Young Rev. Meredith is terribly excited about this child. Peter says he's almost neglecting his congregation over it!"

"Uncle Bruce would never neglect his duties," Meggie defended her favorite uncle.

"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Craig reassured her. "Peter always exaggerates."

Auntie Di smiled fondly at Meggie. "Bruce is a wonderful minister, and he's going to make a wonderful father. It makes me feel old, though. I remember when he was born, and now he's going to be a father!"

"I hadn't wanted to say anything," Mrs. Annabelle mentioned, "But I did notice the other day how _terribly_ grey your hair is getting. Of course, redheads _always_ grey early."

Auntie Di laughed, undisturbed. "Thankfully, I've always found silver far preferable to red, so I don't regret the color change."

Meggie smiled to herself. Her aunt might not like village gossip, but she certainly knew how to deflect it.

* * *

A few weeks later, the shrill ringing of the telephone around midnight awakened the Green Gables folks. Meggie and Matty both flew downstairs, but Shirley reached the phone first. His eyes were anxious at first, but as the twins watched and listened to his uninformative "Mm-hm's" and "Very well then's," they saw his expression lighten. By the time he hung up, he was smiling into their curious faces.

"That was Uncle Bruce, calling to tell us that he is now the proud father of a baby boy!"

"Oh!" Meggie gasped, her eyes shining like stars. Matty just grinned happily.

"He also wants us to come see them as soon as possible. How do you feel about a drive out to the Glen this weekend?"

"I'll start packing right away," Meggie laughed.

So it was that Friday after school, the three Blythes started the journey to Glen St. Mary. Meggie could hardly wait to meet her new cousin.

"I wonder how Baby Katy likes having another baby in the house," she wondered aloud.

"She's probably jealous," Matty guessed. "Walt says she's incredibly stubborn and possessive."

"She certainly has a will of her own," Shirley agreed.

"She's not at all like Aunt Una."

"No!" Shirley laughed. "No Meggie, she's not. Aunt Una was the sweetest, quietest, most docile child one could ever meet. Not like your Aunt Faith, who was all fire and roses."

Meggie thought that rather poetic.

It was too late when they arrived at Ingleside to go over to the manse. Lily was thrilled to see Meggie.

"Isn't it thrilling?" she demanded, glowing with beauty and excitement. "He's so sweet … he's got black hair like Uncle Bruce, and Aunt Betsy's sweet brown eyes, the chubbiest, reddest cheeks you ever saw, a little button nose … oh, I could just eat him up! He's the darlingest baby I ever saw."

"I thought Baby Katy was that," Shirley teased her.

Grandmother laughed. "As dear Mrs. Allen once told Diana and me, every baby is the sweetest and the best."

The next morning, when the twins were ushered into Aunt Betsy's room and saw her sitting up in bed with a tiny bundle in her arms, they had to agree. Little Gabriel Fisher Meredith was the sweetest baby they'd ever met.

"Would you like to hold him?" Aunt Betsy offered, her cheeks as red as the crimson shawl around her shoulders. Sitting behind her, Uncle Bruce beamed adoringly at both wife and son.

"No, thank you," Matty said at once, backing up and shaking his head. "I'd probably drop him."

"How about you, Joanna?" Uncle Bruce asked.

Meggie nodded shyly, and Aunt Betsy gently placed Little Gabe in her arms.

Meggie gazed at the tiny sleeping face, so full of peace and contentment. His wispy black hair felt so soft and silky under her hands. She leaned down and kissed his round, rosy cheek.

"He's perfect," she said.

* * *

One week after Little Gabe's birth, Rev. Meredith passed away quietly and painlessly in his sleep. It seemed like half the Island turned out for his funeral, officiated by the grief-stricken Uncle Bruce; no longer "Young" Rev. Meredith.

It was a moving ceremony, causing all the ladies and quite a few of the men to go through a number of handkerchiefs. Afterward, most of the family gathered back at Ingleside to talk it over. Meggie slipped away to Rainbow Valley. She wanted to be alone, to ponder how joy and sorrow were so often mixed together, and how one life was ending just as a new one was beginning. She felt sorry that Little Gabe would never know any of his grandparents—Aunt Betsy's parents being dead as well—but knew that Grandmother and Granddad would be more than happy to fill in.

In the midst of her pensive thoughts, she saw Johnny enter the valley, his head down and his hands buried deep in his pockets. She hailed him softly, and he came and sat next to her.

"I miss Grandfather," he said abruptly. "He was one of the few people who didn't nag me all the time to be better. I could sit with him I his study and he'd talk to me about God and life and stuff, and never once ask me why I wasn't more like Blythe."

Meggie pressed his hand in silent sympathy.

Johnny kicked moodily at the grass. "Meggie," he said. "I can't—I _can't_ stay at home much longer. It's killing me—Blythe is so perfect, and I'm _not him_. He's smart, and handsome, and ambitious, and charming, and everyone wants to be his friend. I'm none of those things."

Before Meggie could voice her indignant denial, Johnny rushed on. "And Dee! She's beautiful and charming, too. People just _flock_ to her. I love them, and I'm proud of them, and if people would just let me alone I could even live with them. But they don't. All my teachers expect me to be like Blythe. The fellows only pretend to be my friend so they can get closer to him—or Dee, some of them. The girls always ask me what they can do to get him to pay attention to them.

"Even Mother and Father want me to be more like Blythe. Oh, they don't say anything outright, but they're always dropping little hints about how I could be more open, more friendly, apply myself a bit more. Do you know why I didn't get to go to the reception to meet the king and queen last month? It wasn't because I'm too young. It was because they were afraid I'd embarrass them."

"Oh Johnny," Meggie said softly.

"I know you're miserable about leaving home in the fall, but Meggie, I'd give anything to get away from my family for a year or more. Sometimes I think I'll just leave."

"Where would you go?"

Johnny scowled. "I don't know. Anywhere. I'm not afraid of hard work. I could take care of myself."

Johnny had been threatening to run away for a few years now, so Meggie didn't take him too seriously. When her father came into her room a month later and told her, with a pale face, that Johnny was missing, she realized she should have listened more closely.


	34. Farewell to Yesterday

Meggie kept her guilt over Johnny's disappearance to herself for several days. Her father recognized her unusual strain, but attributed it to worry over her cousin. Meggie wanted to confess, but was too ashamed. Oh, if only she had realized the seriousness of his threats! She should have said something, told somebody … she could have prevented him from leaving, if she had only believed him.

Auntie Nan was beside herself with worry. Uncle Jerry, between grief over his father and fear for his son, could barely function. Dee spent most of her time in tears, and Blythe was furious at his brother for putting them all through this.

Grandmother and Granddad went back to Ottawa to do what they could to support and comfort the family. Meanwhile, Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick came over to Green Gables nearly every day to discuss new developments.

"Still no sign of him," Uncle Patrick reported heavily a week after they first heard the news. "He seems to have simply vanished."

Shirley's brown face was drawn with concern. "He's only fourteen, Patrick, and he's lived a sheltered life. How could he possibly know enough to lose himself so thoroughly?"

Uncle Patrick shrugged. "Your father suggests that Johnny has been planning this for some time. We've seen how methodical and intelligent he is. He likely had it all planned out, every detail, for months, just waiting for the final push to work up his nerve to actually leave. I wonder what set him off."

Meggie bit her lip in silent distress. _She_ knew that Johnny had been planning this, not for months, but for years, and that his grandfather's death was the final blow. Oh, _why_ hadn't she told Papa?

Now Auntie Di spoke up. "Nan keeps asking me if I think he'll be all right. I don't dare tell her what I remember about the street children in Toronto."

Bran patted her hand. "Don't fret, Mum. God will take care of Johnny."

She smiled gratefully at him.

"Well said, Bran," Shirley agreed. "Worrying and fretting won't do anybody any good right now. The best thing we can do for Johnny is to pray."

Meggie couldn't stand any more. She stumbled to her feet and raced blindly past her startled relations, out the door and into the fields. Flinging herself down into the softly warm grass, she sobbed brokenly into her curved arms.

"Oh God—forgive me, forgive me!" she gasped out between tears.

So lost was she to her grief that she didn't even hear the approaching footsteps. It wasn't until a gentle hand passed over her tumbled hair that she realized she was no longer alone.

"Meggie—little fawn, what's the trouble?"

Only one person called her fawn. Meggie sat up, pushing her hair out of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Peter!"

Her cousin grinned. "I have two weeks leave, so I decided to surprise you all with a visit. Nobody was at Tanglewood, and as I came near Green Gables, who did I see but my little chum racing away, her tears flying faster than her feet? Meggie, what's troubling you? Is it still school?"

Meggie told him about Johnny. Peter pursed his lips into a whistle.

"Whew! So the scamp's run off, has he? I can't say I'm terribly surprised. No wonder you're upset."

"Oh Peter, you don't know the worst of it." Meggie twisted her hands together. She couldn't confess to Papa or Matty, but Peter—she could tell Peter anything. "It's my fault."

"Your fault? Nonsense!"

"Oh, but it is. You see, Johnny's been telling me for years now how much he wanted to leave home. And just before he left, at Rev. Meredith's funeral, he told me he was going to do it. But Peter, I didn't believe him! I thought he was just saying it … but don't you see, if I'd paid closer attention, if I'd believed him, I could have told Papa and he could have convinced Johnny not to go. I should have said something."

Peter sat down, coiling his long legs underneath him, and took her hands in his. "Meggie, the only person who is responsible for Johnny's actions is Johnny himself. Not you. Not Uncle Shirley, not even Uncle Jerry and Auntie Nan. Just Johnny."

"But"—

"No buts." He regarded her gravely. "Yes, you made a mistake by not realizing the seriousness of his words. But that doesn't make this your fault. Don't you think everyone's blaming themselves right now? Matty's probably beating himself up for not seeing how badly Johnny was hurting. Auntie Nan and Uncle Jerry are surely taking all the responsibility on themselves. And yes, we all bear a share in the cause. None of us saw quite how badly he was hurting, or did enough to help him. But in the end, it was still his choice to leave, his decision to run away from his difficulties instead of asking for help or facing them head-on."

Meggie felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she acknowledged the truth of his words. "Oh Peter, I _am_ glad you're home."

He smiled again. "So am I."

"Auntie Di will be so happy to see you," Meggie continued. "Everyone will."

"So will I be to see them. It seems an age since I've been home." He stood up and held out his hand to help her to her feet.

As she rose, Meggie marveled at how much older he seemed. It wasn't anything in particular, but just an overall air about him. His shyness, his old diffidence was completely gone. He stood, poised and glad against the backdrop of green trees and blue sky, a strong, confident young man.

"What?" he asked, noticing her scrutiny.

"You've changed," she said simply.

"So've you. The last time I saw you, you were still a little girl. But now, despite the traces of tears and mussed hair, I see a lovely young woman with serious eyes and a sweet spirit standing before me."

Meggie acknowledged the difference with a half smile as they headed back to the house. "I used to think I wanted to be a little girl forever, but now … I don't know. I think I'm ready to start growing up."

"Good," Peter laughed. "Because it's going to happen whether you are ready for it or not!"

* * *

That night, after the Samuels went back to Tanglewood and they had all recovered from their surprise at Peter's re-appearance, Meggie finally confessed to her Papa the guilt she'd been feeling over Johnny. He was horrified that she'd suffered in silence for so long.

"I thought we'd agreed," he said with mock severity, "after you and Matty thought I was going to marry Aunt Una, that you'd come to me with all your fears."

Meggie smiled at the memory. How long ago that seemed! "I know," she said. "I just_couldn't_."

He hugged her. "I'm glad Peter was able to help you."

"Me, too. Oh Papa, isn't it wonderful that he's home? We're going to walk out to Echo Lodge tomorrow afternoon. I haven't been there at all this spring. I'm sure it misses us."

* * *

Accordingly, the following day saw the chestnut and the golden head strolling down the old fir lane once more. Peter smiled reminiscently.

"What?" Meggie queried.

"Just remembering the first time we made this trip," he said. "Was it really four years ago?"

"It was a June morning just like this," Meggie recalled softly. "And we thought we'd never seen anything lovelier than the little stone house and its garden."

"And then we discovered the echoes …"

"And afterward Papa told us it was Great-Grandmother Lavender's, and where he and Mama met."

"You were just a curly-haired little girl, and I an insufferable freshman. Look at us now—you getting ready to go off to music school, and I preparing to fight a war."

Meggie's clear brow shadowed. "War really is coming, then?"

Peter jerked his head. "I'm afraid so. Let's not talk about it—I don't want to spoil this lovely day."

Meggie could have pointed out that he was the one to bring it up, but instead smiled sympathetically and changed the subject. "Let's see, since that day, Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy got married and Little Gabe was born …"

"Bran graduated Queen's and Polly and Lily started …"

"Aunt Una adopted Baby Katy …"

"Rev. Meredith passed on …"

"Matty hurt his leg …"

"We met Jane Stuart …"

"You went off to Cambridge …"

"And now Johnny's run away from home. Things certainly have changed!"

They stopped as the lane ended and Echo Lodge in all its old-fashioned sweetness stood before them.

"I wonder what the next four years will bring?" Meggie voiced.

"Many more changes, I'm sure," Peter decided. "War, school, and much growing up." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "But whatever tomorrow brings, we still have today."

Meggie smiled up at him. "So we do."

They stood, hand-in-hand, at the threshold of yesterday's joys and tomorrow's fears. In that one golden moment between, they were content.

**_The End_**


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